


Through a Doll's Eyes

by eNCee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst and tragedy that'll cure you of it, Dolls, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluffiness that'll give you diabetes, Mari going through an existential crisis, Teen Romance, and probably an identity struggle, lore expansion, there's more to akumas than we think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eNCee/pseuds/eNCee
Summary: If only they listened just a bit harder. If they had done this, perhaps they might have heard her. It was small and soft, barely above a whisper, but the porcelain doll in the antique shop could talk, and her blue eyes twinkled as she watched the people of Paris pass her by. If they could only hear her, they would know her name was Marinette. And she wanted to be human.





	1. The Doll-Maker

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear reader!
> 
> I see my fic has caught your attention, and may I say it's wonderful to know you think it's worth even just a peek. I'm also hoping it means the summary hooked you in, 'cause I was so nervous that it wouldn't be good enough and that no one would give this story a chance because it was so lame and...
> 
> I digress.
> 
> You're here, that's all that matters. I earnestly hope you will enjoy it. And if you did, or didn't, feel free to write about it in the comments. I can't tell you how much those comments mean to fanfic writers such as myself. It would certainly be a good indication to continue this little tale of mine.
> 
> Enjoy the story, Sweetie!

Tom Dupain was well-known in Paris, affectionately called “Mr. Doll” by all who knew him. Why he was called as such was due to his line of work; Tom made toys. He was a doll maker, one of the best in the 19th century. The dolls he made weren’t made of canvas or cloth, nor were they of tin or clay. They had no stuffing and didn’t have buttons for eyes. Tom’s dolls weren’t anything like that, no sir, Tom’s dolls were made of porcelain. What kind of porcelain?

Every kind imaginable.

If one could name it, Tom probably had it. The man was never short on any kind of porcelain for his dolls. Whether it was soft porcelain or bone porcelain, which his wife’s cousin imported from China, he always had plenty to spare. Sometimes, he had more porcelain than he knew what to do with, so he’d sell the surplus to fellow doll-makers. He was never short on moulds either. Unlike other porcelain dolls sold in shops, Tom insisted on variety. It was rare to see more than three dolls with the same proportions. There were always dolls that were taller, always ones that were shorter. Some were curvy, others slim, some round, some angled.

Such unique dolls caught the attention of many children. There was never a day when Tom’s doll shop was empty. Little girls and even boys with their parents would come in to see his creations. Most of them bought, others reserved. The wealthier customers custom-ordered. Tom catered to all of them with a grin on his face. His reputation as “Mr. Doll” grew large enough that every now and then a customer from another European country came just to buy one of his dolls. These visitors paid him twice as much; they sometimes came back for a second doll. This made Tom very happy.

What didn’t make him happy was when toy stores would suggest he mass-produce his dolls. Their reasons seemed sound: if Tom made more dolls in a day, he’d make more money. But Tom would never agree.

He believed that all his dolls had to be as unique as the children that bought them.

Such a belief inevitably cost Tom more money for all the moulds he had to make, but Sabine Cheng his loving wife supported him entirely. She ran a bakery next to his doll shop, which had an adjoining door to each spouse’s place of business. While Tom would be hard at work on his dolls, Sabine would be labouring over her ovens to produce fresh bread. The income they made was more than enough to sustain them, with plenty of excess money for other plans.

Tom had one such plan.

“My dear, you know I love you.” Tom told Sabine one night after closing their shops. Sabine hummed in return and leaned into her husband. “But dear, it must be terribly lonely to have to work all by yourself in your bakery, while I am in my workshop making my dolls.” He took his wife’s tiny hands in his, gently stroking them with a thumb. He looked into her eyes with all the adoration he had felt for her all the years they were together.

“I am not lonely, Tom. I know you are right there, right next door.” She chuckled softly.

“That does little to ease my worry.” Tom sighed.

“Then what will, my love?”

A smile, as kind and warm as his soul, spread across the doll maker’s face. He squeezed his wife’s hand ever tighter, and whispered, “Our own little doll.” Tom watched as his wife’s eyes widened and then sparkle in mutual understanding. She said nothing but merely leaned into him more. Tom enveloped her in an all-consuming embrace. “She will be the prettiest doll in the world.” Sabine smiled at her husband.

“I have no doubt about that.”

 

* * *

 

 

True to Tom’s word, Sabine gave birth to what might have been the prettiest baby alive – or at least to a very proud father she was. His little doll seemed to be Sabine’s spitting image. From the angled, blue eyes to the tiny frame, she was like a miniature version of his wife.

Sabine, however, saw Tom in her daughter. Though angled, her daughter’s eyed were wide and full of wonder, just like Tom’s were. Sabine heard his laugh when her child would giggle, see his kindness in her smile. Whatever the couple would say to one another, one thing was clear: their daughter was absolutely perfect.

“Mariet … My little doll, my little baker.” Sabine smiled, pressing her lips against the softness of her daughter’s cheek.

Tom’s life could never have been any happier than it was when Mariet began helping around. Even though the girl was young, Mariet was eager to assist Sabine out in the bakery. Most days Sabine let her roll the dough or mix the batter. When there wasn’t much to bake, the bluenette manned the counter, cheerfully greeting the customers that came by. They all loved the little girl. Every time a regular dropped by, they always had some sort of treat to give Mariet.

And every time she was given a treat, the little bluenette was quick to share it with her parents, much to Tom and Sabine’s amusement. Mariet visited Tom when Sabine didn’t need her help. Tom loved those visits. It became a highlight during the day.

“Papa, lookah what I made!” A tiny bluenette scrambled into Tom’s shop, a smile smudged with flour beaming up at the doll maker. In Mariet’s hand was a piece of bread, its crust a perfect golden brown with wisps of smoke steaming out of it. “I made cheese bread all by mahself!”she giggled.

Tom got up from his desk and went to inspect his daughter’s creation. “Ooh la la! My little doll, you are a little baking prodigy!” he grinned, ruffling the child’s hair with a hand, to which she squealed in delight. “Mama should be careful!” he leaned in to whisper, “You might be a better baker than her and only at five years old, too!”

“Wait until you taste it.” Sabine appeared in the doorway, sending Tom a playful glare. He chuckled in reply.

Mariet beamed and pushed her bread into his hand. “Ah made it for you, papa! Tell me if it’s tasty! Like mama’s bread!” she said.

Tom popped the little cheese bread in his mouth. The crust made a satisfying crunch as he chewed it, giving way to the soft interior that held a small bit of melted cheese. The saltiness was a perfect balancer with the sweetness of the dough. “Mmm! This might be the best bread I’ve - ” Tom suddenly bit into something hard.

“Oh? What is this…..crunchy bit in it?” He looked at his daughter.

“That’s the eggshell! Mama says that bread should have texture in it, papa!” Mariet grinned, pointing at a smugly smiling Sabine.

“I _did_ help her a little bit on that one.” Sabine shrugged.

In all honesty, the bread still tasted good – and the eggshell _did_ add some texture to it. He swallowed the rest of it and gave Mariet a pat on the head. “That’s very interesting, my little doll, but I think the crust was more than enough texture.” His arms wrapped around her little body and pulled her into a big bear hug. She returned the gesture, although with her small arms, she could only hug his arm.

“If you say so, papa!” Mariet giggled.

 

* * *

 

As Mariet’s ninth birthday came and went, Tom began to notice two small changes in his daughter.

The first change came in her growing interest in his line of work. The little girl’s visits became more frequent than before. He would see her come in and out of his shop, sometimes while she was still helping Sabine, and comment on some of his designs. Oh, but not on the doll’s build, no, Mariet was not interested in such things.

Her eyes were for the clothes designs.

Tom had many papers filled with those. Though he wasn’t a prodigy at drawing, Tom’s sketches were still nice to look at; at least they clearly showed the designs.

But Mariet would look at them, peer at every detail with her sharp eyes.

She would find something off about them, perhaps the colors used were too conflicting, or the lace was too excessive. She would point all these out to him, following up with small suggestions on how they could be altered to look better.

He humoured her at first.

“Well, my little doll, why don’t you try making your own designs? You can show them to me, and perhaps I might use them,” he had told her with a chuckle. Mariet had lit up at the proposition and he watched, bemused, as she hurried away to grab her pencil and papers.

She ended up making him ten designs that day, and he ended up using all of them.

From then on, he let Mariet give him her dress designs. He warned her not to let it get in the way of helping Sabine, but it was otherwise a welcomed help to him. Her interest in his work was endearing, and comical when he thought about it. His little doll, making dresses for dolls. It sounded like something one would read in a fairy tale book, no?

It was four months after this development that Tom noticed the second change.

It was subtle at first, something anyone could miss without much effort. He noticed it in her increasingly sluggish behaviour and the need to take naps more and more. When she wasn’t napping, Mariet would sit down as often as she could. Sabine noticed the girl’s diminishing appetite, and how even the smell of her favourite soup did little to perk it up.

Her skin was getting paler, too.

She was looking more and more like the porcelain dolls he sold. If a stranger saw her sitting down on a chair, they would surely mistake her for one of them. It was a frightening thought, but it was obvious that the little girl was coming down with something. Something terrible. Tom and Sabine were just about to arrange a visit from a local doctor one day when they heard something.

THUD.

They both rushed upstairs, to where the noise came from. Their hearts were held in fear’s grip as they ran to their daughter’s room, where they knew the noise had come from, where they _wished_ it hadn’t come from. Tom swung the door open with such force that it was nearly ripped off its hinges. His eyes fell upon what, who, had fell, and all at once the warmth left his body.

Sabine ran forward with a cry, tears welling up in her eyes.

He saw her cradle their daughter.

His little doll.

His only daughter.

 

* * *

 

Loss was a painful thing to get through.

More so when the thing lost was not a ‘what’ but a ‘who’.

More so when that someone was family.

Especially more so when that family member was one’s child.

But for Tom, a father who had loved his daughter with every last bit of him, loss was absolutely crippling. It wasn’t fair, he thought. His daughter was so young, too young, to leave this world. There was so much more she was going to experience. There were so many things she was going to see. There were so many futures she was going to have.

**_Going to._ **

Tom hated those words now. To him, they were empty promises that life had made to his daughter, ones that life probably knew would never be kept and yet still promised. He knew, deep down, that blaming life for the tragedy was selfish, childish even.

But his daughter was gone now and he had more grief than he knew what to do with.

Mariet was taken from him and his wife so suddenly, without any warning, that he was barely able to register the loss until he finally saw his little doll in her coffin. There she had been lain, encased with white cloth and wearing a dress he had made for her. Her eyes, whose cheerful shine brightened up so many of his days, were now closed in a final slumber. That was when the tears fell down. They were as if all the sorrow he had silently kept were leaking out, glistening like dying stars as they fell to the ground. For all the strength he had, Tom was barely able to stay standing. It was Sabine who got him through it.

She held on to him as tightly as he held her.

She too was crying, but the Chinese woman’s composure did not falter. It should have though. His wife had more right than him to wail in pain and collapse from the grief of losing their daughter. She had birthed Mariet after all, carried the little girl in her womb for nine months. She and her daughter had been one being for a time. There was no doubt in his mind that this was tearing Sabine up just as much as it was for him. Maybe even more. Yet she stood there with him, keeping him standing, being his support through the whole ordeal, and when he caught her gaze, he knew.

It was for him.

Just as she had many years ago, Sabine was keeping him steady. His wife, who barely reached his chest in height, was the only thing that kept him from losing all reason and succumbing to the grief. She had always known that he was more sensitive to these kind of things, that his heart was fragile despite his size. Sabine knew this and she was putting her own grief aside so his own would be soothed.

Tom choked on his words as his wife stroked his hand with hers.

“My Sabine….” His voice came out cracked and trembling. He pulled her into a tight hug, cradling her within his arms as he did. “Let me carry your burden this time..” He felt her tiny arms grip the back of his coat, felt her body tremble against his, and finally heard her soft sobs as he sheltered her from the grief they were _both_ experiencing.

Loss was indeed a painful thing to get through.

It crippled them both.

 

* * *

 

Tom found it difficult to make dolls.

He could see his daughter in every doll he made, and the pain that came with it halted any further progress. He would try to push the pain aside, keep his concentration on his work, but all that would disappear the moment he would look at the doll he was making. The porcelain skin was too familiar, the sparkling eyes too similar. It made him shudder and he would end up benching the doll for “another time”.

Sabine fared better than him, but only slightly. She at least was able to run the bakery smoothly. Bread was made on time and orders were always completed. But sometimes he would see her work, and he would see her rolling the dough.

“Could you pass me the cutter, Mari-” she would say but then cut herself short and let out a sad, empty chuckle.

 There had been multiple times since then that she would call out for their daughter, only to remember the reality of their situation. Every time it happened, Tom could see the light in his wife’s eyes dim just ever so slightly. When it seemed that she would not be getting any better, he made a big decision.

His wife needed him now more than ever, and what she needed was company to fill in the gap left from their little doll’s passing. It was because of this that he decided to stop making dolls and focus all his attention on his wife and her bakery.

Sabine protested at the idea at first. She told him that it was his passion, his business.

“Ah, but my dear, I’m afraid I cannot bring myself to make a doll anymore, much less look at one.” Was his soft response.

With that, Tom’s toy store closed down, replaced as an expanded display room for the bakery. Baking bread and pastries with his wife was apparently what he, what they, both needed. They could get lost into their thoughts as they’d prepare the bread, but take comfort in the knowledge of the other’s presence. Business was still good despite the loss of one store. The people of Paris were mostly respectful of the couple’s decisions. A few people occasionally tried to order a doll from Tom, but each try ended up the same way: rejected.

For ten years the Dupain-Cheng’s lived like this.

The pain still stayed with them both but they found solace in each other and their lives still had some joy to it. They found joy in baking bread together. They felt it when their customers thanked them. They even felt it when children came to buy sweets from the shop – a joy that came with forlorn nostalgia. Through it all, Tom and Sabine kept on going. If not for themselves, they did it for their daughter. They believed it would be an insult if they lived unhappy lives when their daughter didn’t even get to live that long. Perhaps, they thought, if they lived happily, their daughter would be happy as well.

It was this thought that brought them the most joy and kept them going for decades more.

 

* * *

 

Tom was nearing the twilight of his life, and although he could still move around just fine and had no illness to deal with, he could feel a certain tiredness in his bones, one that always came with old age. Being tired all time got in the way with taking care of a bakery though. He found it more difficult to keep up with the demands selling bread brought. Sabine had similar problem as well, but she was much more stubborn than Tom, so she kept working despite it.

They eventually decided it was time to find someone to help them out, someone young and with the strength that youth gave with them. Bernard Dupain was the perfect candidate for the position. The son to Tom’s younger brother, Bernard was a lover of all things baked – and preferably sweet. He would be twenty-four in the coming fall, and with experience as an employee from several other bakeries, Bernard knew the business like the back of his hand.

Tom knew that the bakery would be in good hands with the lad. Sabine knew that too, so it was less than a day later that they sent a letter to the young man with their proposition.

Bernard arrived at the bakery a week later with a couple of suitcases and an energetic smile.

“I hope I didn’t take too long getting here, Uncle Tom. I packed up as soon I finished reading your letter.” The brunette said with small grin.

“Too long? Why, we didn’t think you’d be here till next Wednesday!” Tom chuckled.

Sabine ushered Bernard in and showed him to his room, and a few minutes later, showed him around the bakery. “Most of the cutters and preparation tools are kept in this cabinet over here, but bowls and other containers are over in _this_ cabinet. Flour sacks are in the cabinet next to it.” She pointed to every place that the young man would need to remember, and Bernard would nod, and silently make note of it.

It wasn’t long before the bakery had three people to run it. Output doubled because of the extra help and, consequently, so did the income. A lot of the expenses Tom and Sabine used to worry about also decreased, what with Bernard’s ever ingenious ideas on how to improve production. Tom was more than happy to step down as Sabine’s assistant in the kitchen, opting to man the front desk most days and to greet regulars and newcomers alike with his gentle and friendly grins – something he seemed to be doing more ever since Bernard came to help.

Sabine seemed to feel years younger with the youth around, that Tom noticed as well. The woman would eagerly share her recipes and tricks to the boy, who in turn earnestly learned them, all while commenting on how good she was at this.

“Well,” Sabine would say, “When you run a bakery for forty-three years, bread-making comes as naturally as breathing.”

Tom felt his wife’s pride in the young boy whenever he made something new for the bakery. His jam-filled bread was a hit with the children, as were his melon-flavored buns. Customers were never shy on complimenting Tom’s nephew, all of which made him beam brightly and made his days all the better. Perhaps this was what it felt like, the pride a parent felt when their child…..

Whenever his thoughts wandered there, Tom would shake his head. No, he said to himself, no more sad thoughts about that.

And yet, even after all this time – and even with Bernard’s presence – he still could not forget the one who was no longer with them. He could not forget his little doll. It seemed silly that he was still moping about such a thing when it had been so long since that day. Sabine had all but accepted it by that point. Sure, she still mourned on the anniversary of their daughter’s death, but his wife had moved on and now focused on teaching Bernard as much as she could. Why couldn’t he?

Tom thought long and hard about the reason. It spanned for five days and five nights. He needed closure; that was obvious. But for the life of him he did not know how. He pondered over what method he should use, or in the very least what kept him from moving on. The answer came to him on the sixth day when a girl and her mother walked into the bakery.

The girl, who seemed no older than six years old came up to the counter and asked if there was any jam bread available. He looked down at her and replied that a fresh batch would be out in a few minutes.

“Oh, good! I need about twenty pieces for a tea party,” she giggled happily.

“A tea party? How fancy! What an honor to know our jam breads will be used!” he smiled.

“Of course! It’s my favourite bread in the whole city! Oh, and Patty’s, too.” She pointed at the porcelain doll she had been clutching to her chest. Tom’s eyes recognized the doll. After all, it was one of the dolls he had made years ago. He felt his heart tighten just looking at the fragile thing. Too fragile.

Like his Mariet was.

After the girl and her mother had left, Tom could only imagine the doll. _Oh yes_ , he thought, _I used to make dolls_. His old age took from him many memories of his youth. He hadn’t minded all that much, but now that he remembered what he had forgotten, and how important that memory was, he cursed his old age. He knew that he used to make dolls for a living, but then he would forget about it. Only to remember it a few days later. He must have forgotten about it again until today. “I used to make dolls,” he repeated in a hushed voice, “but I stopped making them when Mariet …”

It made sense. Foggy as his memory was about his previous occupation, the image of his daughter remained crisp and clear. But what if it didn’t? What if he would wake up one day and find that he could not remember what his daughter looked like? Would his child fade in and out of memory as easily as his doll-making? Would the child he lost be forgotten like the job that was once his passion and joy?

Such thoughts made him shiver.

He could not bear such thoughts, that his daughter would be forgotten. No, he would not let her.

So that very night, when both his wife and nephew were sound asleep, he made his way to a room, one he had not visited in over forty years. His workshop looked to be untouched by time, save for a few cobwebs and a sheen of dust over everything. He patted off some of the dust from his work table, and grabbed a pencil and paper from the drawer beneath it.

He sketched out a little girl on this piece of parchment, one whose eyes sparkled a dazzling blue, and whose hair was like the evening sky. Her cheeks were flushed with the lightest pink, something that happened often since she laughed and giggled so much. Tom remembered how her pigtails would bounce around as she ran about, how the red ribbons that kept them up would come undone after too much of it.

She wore a blue summer dress with a light pink undershirt, which could be seen since she always forgot to button her dress all the way up. Her shoes, a matching shade of pink with dark blue lace, completed the outfit. But that wasn’t the most important part of the design. It was a single line, one that stretched daintily over the girl’s face that mattered most, for the girl he sketched could never look like his daughter without her brilliant smile.

 

* * *

 

Three months went by in a blink of an eye, and Tom spent all that time in the workshop, tinkering with the modelling clay so that it would make for a perfect mould. There were already moulds for the body and limbs, but the head was yet to be seen. He had made at least a dozen models by then, all deemed unworthy in his artisan eye in capturing the essence of his daughter, and so they piled up in the corner. His current one seemed doomed to join the others as well, if his increasing frown was any indication. “The cheeks just aren’t the right shape…” he grumbled under his breath. His large hands were surprisingly diligent with the tiny chisel he held, and it was with this diligence that he carved deeper into the clay.

Sabine, who had been concerned about his decision at first, came to his aid when he could not remember the exact details of Mariet’s face – his old age was already beginning to fade her image in his mind. She brought a small box for him, and in its contents held what he needed: pictures of their daughter, who stared up through the photographs with the same happy grin that had brightened his days long ago.

But even with the picture he had, Tom could not carve the perfect face for a mould, and it frustrated him greatly. He tossed the rejected clay head with all the others, and it reverberated with a hollow thud that echoed through the room. With a sigh, he leaned back into his chair, one hand absently scratching his white beard, the other twirling the chisel between his fingers.

“Uncle Tom _?_ ”

His nephew’s voice had him turn around. Bernard had appeared by the door, a tray of biscuits and tea in his hands, and walked up beside the brooding old man.

The brunette gently placed the tray on the desk before shooting a small smile at Tom.

“I take it from the noise that the new one was no good?” he inquired.

“Sadly, yes. I cannot seem to get the smile right.” Tom sighed and picked up a chocolate biscuit. “I can remember her smile and I have pictures of her smiling all over my desk, but I cannot capture it in these blasted clay heads!” He bit angrily down on his snack, breaking the biscuit in two with a loud sound.

He watched his nephew look over the very photos he mentioned. Bernard scanned each one with interest, humming softly as he went by each one.

If Tom’s memory was accurate, which seemed highly doubtful, he had a picture of Bernard and Mariet somewhere there. It was one taken during her eight birthday, where his little doll had dragged the poor twelve-year old boy to the kitchen to sample a new type of cookie she had made. Funny enough, Bernard had found the cookies delicious and the picture was taken as they both chowed down on a plate full of them.

“Ah, here it is.” Bernard picked up that very same picture.

A small smile came across his nephew’s face. “Those were the tastiest cookies I ever had,” the young man confessed and chuckled as he inspected the picture closer. “I ended up loving breads and pastries ever since. I suppose I have Mariet to thank for that…” Bernard carefully placed the photo back with the others, and turned his smile to Tom.

“I’ve been trying to replicate those cookies for years now actually. Sort of my way of remembering her, but I never seem to get it right either.” The brunette picked up one biscuit and nibbled on it slightly. Tom could see the all too familiar nostalgia in the young man’s eyes. “I’m getting closer though, I’m sure of it. Maybe one day, I’ll finally get the right taste and, when that day comes, uncle, will you let me sell it in the bakery?”

Tom felt his heart warm up at his nephew’s words. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, and giving a reassuring squeeze, he replied, “It would be the kindest thing you could do for her.”

Bernard left shortly after that, leaving Tom to his mould-making. The next one he worked on took a lot longer to finish; this time he wouldn’t rush himself. He made it a point that every strike meant something, that each piece of clay he chipped away would not be wasted. He took more breaks, too, and he used those times to look at the photographs, remembering the stories and the happy memories that were kept with them.

Slowly the clay head’s features became more poignant and pronounced. The details of the cheeks and chin were taking shape as well. And then the mouth. The mouth took Tom the longest time. Just to get an idea of the shape consumed four days of thought and ponder. It paid off in the end however, for when he carved out the last bit of details on the face’s lips, he knew that this was his daughter’s smile.

It didn’t take long after to make a suitable mould for the face, and soon he had all the parts he needed for his doll – even a few balls for the articulated joints. He felt at home as he began cleaning the parts of the doll, scraping off any unsightly seams, while fine-tuning the details. Such details were the grooves between fingers and toes, or the dips in the ears and the nose.

He made sure to keep the pieces hydrated, and kept a cup of water nearby to brush up against the surfaces. Hydration was very important in making a porcelain doll, for if it dried out even slightly, then it would crack when put in a kiln to be fired up. For this particular doll, Tom planned to have it fired five times, as he had the intention of a very long-lasting porcelain.

While the parts baked, he went on to set up his old paints and brushes. He couldn’t believe they were all still usable after all this time, but perhaps it was the foresight of his younger self in putting them in cool cabinets that saved him. He laid out a pallet and dabbled the paints to get the hues he wanted, and when the baking was done, he brought the cooled down doll parts to the desk. He painted the skin tone first, which he did with surprising speed, flicking the paint here and there as easily as he had done when he was younger. The nails were painted quickly with a small brush. The brush was so small, it was hard to believe a man with hands as big as Tom’s could hold it so delicately.

The only time he slowed down was when he was painting the face.

He had set aside special brushes to handle the minute parts of it he had to paint, some of which had brush tips no thicker than a needle’s. He meticulously painted on the small blush on the cheeks, and the small contours around the face. The lips were painted thrice, each time to add a realistic color to them, one as vibrant as his daughter’s. When he was content with his work, he placed them back in the kiln for a few minutes to bake.

He kept refining the doll parts again and again, touching up paint in areas that needed it, and later on sanding the porcelain till it was smooth. This doll would not have a glazed finish. He decided it would have a matte finish, so as to have a more skin-like texture, and be overall more realistic. It was a good thing he used Bisque porcelain for this doll. Bisque’s unglazed texture worked perfectly with his vision. He fired the parts in the kiln one last time before he went to bed that night.

He went back to work at dawn the following day, the eagerness evident in the lively steps he took to his workshop.

This time he needed to put the parts together.

He started on the limbs first. Equipped with the best cord he had, he carefully strung the limbs and joints together. He repeated the process for the other limbs, and had a separate cord used to string all the limbs together to the body. Another cord string was used for the neck joint, so the doll could turn here and there. A hook and chain mechanism was installed in its face to allow blinking from it.

The eyes Tom had made for the doll, a pair of sapphire-inlays and aquamarine shards that made the irises sparkle, were gingerly set into place with a satisfying click. He quickly glued on the lashes to complete the face. The hair was next to install. That part went off without any set-back. All that was left was to tidy up any excess string and glue.

He took a step back when he finished and looked at his handicraft. “Yes. This is nice.” He grinned, looking at the little doll kindly. “Now all that’s left to do is to dress you up.”

Tom had had the clothes and shoes for the doll made well before he started with the moulds, and they had hung patiently on a small hanger ever since. He admired the needlework done in the dress, reminding himself to thank Sabine for such a gorgeous piece. The Mary Jane shoes were equally impressive. He was glad he decided to ask a shoe maker to create it this time instead of doing it himself. Sure he was confident that he could have made good shoes for the doll, but he wanted to make absolutely certain that this doll would get the best.

The dress-up took less than five minutes to complete, though he _did_ have a little trouble with the sleeves, and Tom stood looking at the result of five months of endless labor, a labor of love.

The little doll that sat before him smiled gently, its eyes twinkling under the lamp light, and its hair was kept neatly in two pigtails by two red ribbons.

They were the same ribbons that the real Mariet had worn before.

There was no doubt in his mind now. No matter which way he looked at the doll, he knew, he knew that this was his daughter’s doll. A grin, overflowing with paternal love and mingling sadness, filled up the features in his face. “Finally,” he managed to say. His voice was starting to crack from looking at such a familiar face. Tears rolled down, and he had to choke back a bittersweet sob. He felt so accomplished, so proud, and yet also sorrowful and melancholic. After all this time, he had finally made a doll, finished it all the way, and at the same time, come to peace with his daughter.

Mariet had been gone long ago, that he knew, but this was the first time he felt that he could wholly accept that fact. His daughter was longer alive; she had passed away into the after-life. But she would not be forgotten. This doll would make sure of that. Though he knew this could never replace his daughter, the doll would remind him of his love for her, and that in itself was a great gift. Gently he picked it up, like a father would when he held his baby. It was time to show Sabine and Bernard.

“Welcome to the family…my little Marinette.”

 

* * *

 

Bernard Dupain was well-known in Paris, affectionately called “Mr. Bakerman” by all who knew him. Why he was called as such was due to his line of work; Bernard was a pastry chef. He owned a lovely shop on the corner street right in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Because of its location, there was never a day that went by without at least a dozen people stopping by to buy his confections. Such popularity among the people required a lot of work, but thankfully he wasn’t alone. He had his lovely wife and three kids to help him run the business. With all the help he had, Bernard was allowed to make lots of bread and cakes and baked sweets. What kind?

Every kind imaginable.

But his most popular one, which sold out even quicker than his croissants, was a strawberry cookie he called “Maricrumbs”. Children, adults, and even the elderly enjoyed the sweet yet tangy taste of it. Most of his regulars always ordered at least a couple of them every time they bought from his store. He hoped that his aunt and uncle, two wonderful people who had passed away some years ago, could see how successful his creation was, and hoped that they were smiling down at him.

It had been difficult to cope with their loss. He had lived and worked with them for eleven years, and in that time, he felt they were like his second parents. It was while he worked in their bakery that he met the love of his life, and it was them who helped bake the most beautifully delicious cake for his wedding. They had gone so suddenly; both had died in their sleep, wrapped in the other’s arms. It was a sad time, to be sure. But Bernard wasn’t alone. He had his wife, Lucille, and his children Thomas, Sabrina, and Gordan. They all kept him company.

And of course, he had Marinette.

The little porcelain girl was the last doll his uncle had ever made, and Bernard believed that it was Tom’s masterpiece. The old doll-maker had taught him how to care for Marinette, how to restring her and clean her properly, telling him that he would take care of her when he passed on. Marinette now had a permanent place in the parlor room, posed sitting down on a picnic blanket with several small pillows around her, and kept within the safety of her glass case. The girl was always the start of many conversations with the guests and relatives who came by.

All agreed that there was no doll in the world like Marinette.

Many of the children that visited would go over to him, and having him bend down they would whisper how the doll seemed like it was alive.

“That’s because she is!” Bernard would say with a grin. “She’s just a little fragile though, so she usually stays in her case. But when the weather’s good, we take her out for a picnic in the park.” And how the children would giggle at him and his stories. It was silly to think that a doll could be alive.

Ah, but Marinette was alive truly, at least to Bernard.

He always felt a certain air about the porcelain doll, felt her eyes looking at him whenever he was in the room, and when he’d look back at her, the doll would smile at him. Of course Marinette was always smiling, but when he “felt” her smile at him, he knew there was something really special about her. Due to this, he made it a habit to pass by her case every morning, when he’d begin making the first batch of bread, and greet her. He did the same thing just before he retired to bed, bidding her a good night’s sleep.

And every time he did it, he was most certain she was greeting him back, her eyes almost alit with intelligence. This morning was no different. He came downstairs just before dawn with his wife, ready to start the day’s first batch of bread, and paused when he reached her case. “Good morning, Marinette. It’s a cool morning today,” he smiled at her and went to catch up with his wife. Oh, if only Bernard had stayed a bit longer in his greetings. If only he had listened just a bit harder. If he had done this, perhaps he might have heard her. It was small and soft, barely above a whisper, but when he had greeted her, the porcelain girl replied to him,

“I hope you have a good day, Bernard.”

 

 

 


	2. The Wishful Doll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, dear reader!
> 
> I'm so glad that you like my story enough to read this, the second chapter. Dear me, I didn't think it'd be received as kindly as it was! 
> 
> Now, I want to take the time to thank you again for taking an interest in this little story of mine. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. Oh, and please feel free to leave a comment when you're done reading. Those always give me insight and motivation.
> 
> Now off with you, Sweetie!

Marinette couldn’t really remember when she had started…..existing. It was a self-inquired thought that ended up the same way as it had the first time it came to her, with a dizziness that had her fall unconscious. Try as she might, try as she did, she could not find a memory to answer her question – not even a scrap. The porcelain doll quickly gave up that thought after a while. All she needed to know was that she woke up one day, and that a rather large, elderly man beaming at her was the first thing she saw.

 _Creator_ was the first thought that came to her when she looked at him, and so he was from then on. Reflecting on that first moment, she should have felt odd that she knew who he was. Weirder still, she should have been bothered that she knew what the word meant.

But she hadn’t.

She knew right from the get go that this man had made her, was responsible for bringing her to existence. She knew what she was, too. She was a doll, a Bisque Porcelain doll, and she had a name. Marinette. This name was hers, or at least she thought so. A swirl of information had all just simply been put into her the moment she could perceive.

She hadn’t questioned this either.

She knew it was better not to question, and just to accept, like a good doll should. That was what her thoughts told her as well. So she obliged, and observed quietly as her creator picked her up and showed her to more people. New information came to her. Her creator’s name was Tom Dupain. The woman who he showed her to was his wife, Sabine Dupain-Cheng. The younger man was Tom’s nephew, Bernard Dupain.

These were the people who owned her, and she had accepted that.

She was placed inside a glass cabinet after that. It was warm and cozy, and much too small to move in if one thought about it. Not that she minded. Dolls didn’t mind anything. At least that’s what her thoughts told her. Besides, it’s not as if she _could_ move either. It was yet another thing a doll didn’t do. What dolls _did_ do was sit quietly and wait to be handled, or played with, or maintained.

Or thrown away and broken.

That last bit of info bothered Marinette for some reason.

But she hadn’t any need to worry. Her creator and his family cared for her with the utmost diligence. Tom regularly dusted her, Sabine washed her clothes, and Bernard kept her glass case clean and easy to see through. Marinette liked that especially. Her case was kept within a cabinet that overlooked a room full of bread, where people she did not know came by and made “purchases”, whatever that meant. The porcelain girl eventually found out what the word meant, but it had been fun to think it was some kind of cat. Yes, a Purchase Cat sounded very nice to her.

Not that anyone asked.

Regardless, Marinette liked it when her case was clean. That meant her view was clearer and she could see the outside much better. Another thing a doll could do, few as there were, was to watch and remember. And Marinette did, very eagerly. She watched people come in and out. She watched children run around the store. She watched the odd contraptions that eventually roared noisily down the roads outside, carrying a number of people in them. Automobiles, she eventually learned they were called. Perhaps her favourite thing to watch was Tom, who would smile brightly at the people who came to the shop. Sometimes he’d direct that smile to her when the people became few and the light outside dimmed.

She liked his smile. It made her feel warm inside.

Bernard was a close second favourite. He was in the habit of dropping by her case when he wasn’t working, and he would talk to her. Nay, converse with her. As if she would reply. Which she never did. She was a doll, after all! Dolls didn’t talk. It was a silly thing to do, futile even. That didn’t stop the young man though.

 _Poor thing_ , Marinette had thought. _Perhaps he doesn’t know_.

But she liked it when he talked to her, ignoring how odd the action was. She learned a lot of things because he spoke to her. She learned that he, Tom, and Sabine were bakers, which was what they called people who made bread. She learned that Tom used to make many dolls when he was younger. She also learned that Tom had had a child, and that her name was Mariet, and that she had ‘passed away’ somewhere when she was only nine years old. “You know **,** ” Bernard had said, poking gently at her glass, “you were made in her likeness. That means you look a lot like her.”

‘ _I see._ ’

“You’re the most special doll Uncle Tom’s ever made you know.”

‘ _Am I really?_ ’

“There isn’t a doll in the world quite like you, I’d wager.”

It was flattering to know that she was held in such high regard. If Marinette had the ability, she would have blushed at the compliment. Instead, she just sat there in her case, gazing unblinkingly at the man talking to her. Bernard became the most reliable source of information outside of her thoughts. He told her many more things as time passed by, and she grew to enjoy those times of the day. She also liked it when Tom made her new dresses to wear, and she liked it when Sabine took her out of her case and brushed her hair by the window. The list of things she liked seemed to grow with each passing day.

But maybe she liked things a bit too much.

Her thoughts always told her not to get too attached to the people who owned her, that one day they might tire of her, and sell her to the next family she’d be with, and so on and so forth. Then again, Marinette would stubbornly think, maybe they wouldn’t tire of her. And maybe they would keep her forever.

It was dangerous for a doll to think against her own thoughts.

But Marinette didn’t care.

She would continue on as she was, sitting pretty in her glass case, with Tom, Sabine, and Bernard to keep her company and keep her clean. This would be the case for the rest of her days. ‘ _But_ ’, her thoughts told her, ‘ _what will happen to you when they die?_ ’ This made her feel a slight discomfort within herself. What was this? There was a word she had thought but could not understand. When she thought about it harder, she found that it had different forms, too. Die. Dying. Death. Dead. Died. Deceased. What were these terribly dreary-sounding words in her head? What did they mean? She knew it happened to people, but did what, exactly? Was it something painful?

If it was, Marinette would not be able to understand. Dolls had an absence of pain in the physical sense. They could not feel it and few – like Marinette – could even grasp its concept. Even then, all she knew of pain was that it made people acutely uncomfortable, and that it should be alleviated as quickly as possible.

If that was the case, then perhaps this dying business was similar.

‘ _They should just avoid death, then!_ ’ she thought with a huff.

 

* * *

 

Except that they couldn’t, apparently.

Death was an unavoidable pain, one that ended with a person ceasing to exist. Marinette learned this was so when Tom and Sabine had ‘died’. A number of years had passed by before it happened, six if she had to specify.

Dolls were very good at keeping track of time.

Yes, she remembered that day well. It had happened on the morning of October 12th in the year 1893, at approximately eight in the morning – Sabine and Tom were usually up and about at this time. She remembered Bernard coming in to work, and of him calling out for them, and of Bernard’s worried cries as he went upstairs. They transformed into something deeper and filled with an unfamiliar tone she did not recognize him with.

Grief.

His grief resounded through the silent building, and even inside her glass case, Marinette could hear it as clear as the bells of Notre Dame. The intensity made her feel extremely uncomfortable, as she was not used to hearing such a sound from Bernard, not from her cheerful friend.

Soon afterwards, a group of people dressed in white came by, and carried the bodies of her creator and his wife outside. Bernard followed closely behind them, his eyes tinted a red hue, and puffy from what only could have been crying. Marinette watched this all happen from her glass case. There was nothing she could do. She wished there was, but what could a doll do?

 _Watch and remember_ , she thought.

And she did remember. She didn’t forget seeing Tom and Sabine’s lifeless bodies, as white as porcelain and as inanimate as she was. She didn’t forget seeing Bernard in pain, and hearing his sobs as he followed the men outside. She remembered his expression in crisp definition, how his brows knitted together as his mouth pursed in a tight clench. More than anything, she remembered how she could do nothing to ease his pain. To alleviate it. She remembered feeling useless for the first time in her existence, since she was just a doll. Just a doll.

She wished she could forget that last part.

Lucky for her, Bernard was not alone. When he had returned very later that night, he was accompanied by a woman. Lucille. The pretty blonde came home with him, soothing and comforting him with soft words and gentle kisses on his cheek. They both stayed by her glass case as they talked to each other long into the night. It was also during this time when Marinette officially learned of Tom and Sabine’s passing through them.

Marinette knew the woman well. She was, as Bernard once told her, the love of his life. The porcelain doll didn’t understand what he meant but it was obvious the woman meant a lot to him; she was someone of great importance in the man’s life, his wife. Because of this, it meant Lucille was important to Marinette, too.

 _‘All that is important to the owner is important to the doll’_ , her thoughts told her.

 

* * *

 

Marinette was transferred to Bernard’s home a week after Tom and Sabine’s passing. He had carried her with great care to her new case, one that was located in the parlor room of the house. The case was noticeably larger than her previous one. It had enough room to move her limbs around, stretch about. Not like she could though. Instead she was positioned sitting down on a soft blanket, a pile of tiny pillows nestled around her in a ring.

‘ _Wish I could touch these. They’re probably very soft._ ’

The fabric on the pillows seemed high-quality as well. Bernard didn’t spare any expense it seemed.

There was one thing she had a problem with, and that was her view. In the parlor room, her only glimpse of the outside world was through the windows located in the far end of the room before her. It was hard for her to see anything, and whatever she _could_ see was vague and hardly distinguishable. What was a doll to do if there was nothing for her to watch and remember? In Tom’s bakery, she had the luxury of a wide window to the outside world, where she saw many interesting things pass by. Her current location offered her no such thing.

Thank goodness for the children.

Bernard and Lucille had three of them: Thomas, Sabrina, and Gordan. They usually played in the parlor room, which was an acceptable consolation to what Marinette was used to watching. She could recall many an afternoon where she watched them skulk between furniture, crawling on all fours and pretending to be wild beasts on the hunt. Their plush animals served as their prey, and Marinette would toss the poor things a sympathetic smile when the children would leap at them and shake them about in their mouths.

Other times the children were knights, fighting off the evil monster ( _Mr. Snuffles the dragon plush_ ) to save the fair damsel ( _Bunbon the rabbit plush_ ). Marinette winced when the children would stab the poor dragon with the wooden swords. She was sure that had it been her in Mr. Snuffles place, she’d be scratched and cracked from such rou _gh play._

 _‘_ Aren’t you afraid they’ll rip you, Mr. Snuffles?’ she had once asked the dragon.

‘ _Not really. It’s part of being a plush. We’re bound to get ripped sometime._ ’ he replied calmly.

‘ _Besides, we’re easy to fix, yup yup! We don’t shatter like you porcelain toys._ ’ Bunbon added cheerfully.

‘ _Indeed. If one of the children damaged you, M. Bernard would give them a fierce scolding._ ’ Mr. Snuffles had said with a sigh.

It was true. Marinette had never been a hands-on toy. If anything, she might not have been made with the purpose of such playing in mind. She was something to be looked at and admired, a fact she heard Bernard say to his children anytime they wanted to play with her. But it was fine. Watching the children was good enough for her.

Her favourite game to watch, hands down, had to be “Adventure Explorers” though. The children would all pretend they were in some foreign land, perhaps in a forest or mountain, and that they’d encounter many amazing things. Marinette would imagine herself exploring with them, walking through the underbrush, swimming down rivers, climbing mountains. Moving. Oh yes, she especially liked imagining that, of a version of herself that could move around and experience the world first-hand. She wondered what it felt like to move. Humans made walking and running and holding so easy, but was it really? Marinette couldn’t possibly comprehend how they managed to stay standing while moving so many parts. The inner mechanisms of a human had to be something extremely complex.

And what did they run on? What gave them the energy to move? Was it blood, the red liquid that leaked out of them when their skin was pierced or cut? Where did blood come from? Was there a mechanism inside humans that produced it? And if so, what made _that_ mechanism run? How could humans move? How could humans talk? Why were they the only ones that could? Why couldn’t toys walk and talk? Why couldn’t dolls do that? Why couldn’t she? Did she have to do something? Was there a requirement she needed to fulfil?

She felt a swell of unfamiliar hope in her.

Was that possible? Was there actually a way she could actually get herself to move and talk? Was there a way she could become human-

 ‘ ** _A DOLL DOES NOT THINK SUCH THOUGHTS!!!_** ’

When Marinette had asked too much that particular day, her thoughts screamed at her. It shook her and echoed over and over, screeching wildly, vehemently, and unceasingly. There was no way she could block her thoughts, for they were her own, and they punished her that day for thinking too much. Over and over they repeated the phrase, drowning out anything else out of perception. Marinette shivered from the endless berating until, at last, they subsided. Her thoughts left her feeling numb. She had deserved it, she told herself afterwards. She had went too far that time. Dolls weren’t supposed to question; they simply accepted and moved on.

Marinette did so, albeit reluctantly.

 

* * *

 

It was near midnight that time.

While the rest of the Dupains had gone to bed, young Sabrina had come down, muttering about how she was parched and needed some water. As she passed by Marinette’s case, she gave the doll a nod. “Be my look out, Miss Marinette!” the girl smiled sleepily and went on her way.

Marinette took the job very seriously.

She liked Sabrina. In Marinette’s opinion, she was the nicest of the three children. Then again, Sabrina talked to her more than her brothers, and was in the habit of making cute dresses for her. Maybe Marinette was just biased. Still, the girl trusted her to be the watchman, and that made the porcelain girl straighten up – figuratively speaking. The night had been quiet thus far. There weren’t any disturbances; Marinette didn’t hear anything suspicious, didn’t see any shadows lurk behind the curtains.

Or did she?

Marinette took a second look at the window nearest to the front door. A pair of eyes stared back at her before slinking into the darkness. ‘ _Oh no_.’ Marinette gasped.

Was it a burglar?

The knob to the front door wobbled slightly. A metallic scratching was heard.

It was a burglar.

Marinette looked around the room, unease gripping her as the sound became louder. Poor Sabrina was too far away to hear the door being picked. She was still in the kitchen getting a drink. ‘ _Sabrina, go upstairs. Go hide! There’s a burglar! He’s trying to break in!_ ’ the porcelain doll shouted, but of course no sound came out. Time seemed to slow down as Marinette heard the door unlock with a click, creaking soundlessly, revealing to her a ragged looking man with a mask on his head and a sack at his belt.

‘ _Hide Sabrina! He’s here! The burglar’s here!_ ’ Marinette cried from her glass case.

“Papa? Is that you?” she heard Sabrina say.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

The burglar would hear her! He’d hear Sabrina and he’d probably hurt her!

Marinette could only watch as the man hid behind one of the chairs, unseen by Sabrina as the little girl made her way into the parlor. “P-papa?” she hesitated.

The burglar pounced on her.

Sabrina gave a short shriek.

The two figures tumbled to the ground, wriggling against each other as one fought to escape and the other to contain. “Sssh! Keep yer voice down, you little wench!” the man growled softly, keeping one hand covered over Sabrina’s mouth, gripping tightly to a point that it made the girl whine in pain.

“If you scream, I’ll slit yer throat, you hear?! I mean it! I’ll do it!” He flashed a small knife and pointed it at the blond girl’s neck. Sabrina could only cry and squirm underneath him.

Marinette saw all this from her case, and she knew she couldn’t help poor Sabrina.

‘ _Dolls can only watch._ ’ Her thoughts echoed to her.

She heard a muffled scream from Sabrina when the man grabbed a cloth from his pocket, and forcefully wrapped it round the girl’s mouth. He produced another one, this time tying her arms up in a tight bind. “Now, you be a good girl, and lie down.” He picked up Sabrina, who, kicking and flailing, fought against her assailant. She was thrown onto the sofa, helpless and weeping as the burglar moved around the parlor room.

Marinette watched him silently. She watched this wretched man walk around with his filthy boots and disgusting smell. He took a few figurines from their shelves and stuffed them into his sack. The books by the mirror suffered the same fate. “Hmm. This mirror will fetch a good price.” She heard him cackle softly. The mirror was gone in a second.

The burglar turned to check the next room but Sabrina’s muffled cries halted him. He turned a furious gaze to her and stomped to where the girl laid bound and terrified. “What did I tell you?! Shut yer yap or I’ll cut your neck open!” he hissed. Sabrina only screamed louder through her cloth gag.

Marinette saw a flash of silver gleam in his hands.

The knife came dangerously close to the girl’s neck. Sabrina held back a sob. “You know what? I was gonna just let you lie here, but I’ve changed my mind! How about I gut you? Gut you _real_ good! I’m sure the black market will love to get their hands on some fresh organs!” The man pressed the knife into the girl’s skin. Marinette saw this all from her case. The metal slowly sunk into the girl’s skin, deeper and deeper until she heard Sabrina scream, and a trickle of blood flow out.

‘ ** _STOP IT!_** ’ the porcelain doll screamed as loud as she could.

She did not expect what happened next. The burglar retracted the knife and looked wildly around the room. “Who said that?!” he shouted. His eyes were narrowed, zooming here and there. “Who’s there?!” Had….had the man actually heard her? She needed to confirm it.

‘ _Don’t hurt her. Don’t you dare hurt her, you scum!_ ’ Marinette screamed at him.

She watched the man leap from the sofa and stalk about. His knife was poised and ready to strike, his eyes a mixture of rage and fear. “Show yerself! Or..or I’ll kill this girl.” His voice came out cracked, uncertain. That threat made Marinette fume. If she were a fire, she’d have burned him alive. How dare this man threaten her.

‘ _I’m right here._ ’

He spun around to face her, and all at once the color from his face washed away.

“Y-you?!” he whimpered.

‘ ** _GET. OUT._** ’

Marinette’s voice came out as loud as a roar to the burglar, who tumbled back from the sheer force of it. He looked up from his place on the ground, and was met with two glowing eyes. Their piercing blaze bore into him, and even when he closed his eyes, he still saw them, and they glared at him unblinkingly. “D-demon..” he muttered. “Demon!!”

“What’s going on down there?!?”

 Marinette heard Bernard’s voice boom through the room. His footsteps were heard from the stairs, but she dared not look away from the burglar before her. She kept her fiery gaze on him, daring him to try and escape them.

“What the-?! What are you doing to my daughter?!” Bernard came into the room with a gun in hand, his face contorting into a furious scowl. It was only then that Marinette tore her gaze away from the man and turned to look at Bernard. ‘ _At last!_ ’ she sighed.

The burglar broke from his terrified trance and, upon seeing a murderous-looking man pointing a gun at him, screamed. He quickly got to his feet and made for the door.

**BANG!**

One bullet whizzed above his head and embedded itself into the door frame.

**BANG!**

The next one planted firmly into his left shoulder.

Marinette heard the burglar’s pained cry as he stumbled down, only to get up and run like a bat out of hell as far away as he could. Bernard gave a short chase outside, where Marinette could no longer see him. Lucille was the next person to come down. She ran to her daughter tearfully, her sobs choked by the words she tried to speak.

“Oh my god! My Sabrina! My little angel! What did that beast do to you?! Oh, my baby girl!” she cried, tearing the dirty cloth binds apart as if they were paper. Marinette could hear the rage behind the woman’s worry. It made her shudder. The burglar was lucky it wasn’t Lucille that had threatened him.

With the gag removed, Sabrina was free to sob on her mother’s shoulder, who comforted her child with gentle kisses and soothing words. “H-he was gonna..! He was gonna!” Sabrina gasped between her breaths. She held onto her mother like her life depended on it. Lucille held her close, rocking her gently. She rubbed circles into her daughter’s back. “It’s okay, Sabrina. It’s okay. Mama’s here. That man won’t hurt you anymore.”

Thomas and Gordan entered the parlor with wide, frightened eyes.

They, too, ran to Sabrina, spluttering words of comfort to her, and hugging her tightly as they cried. The poor boys probably didn’t know the real magnitude of the situation that had come to pass, but they knew that their sister was hurt. Sabrina was hurt and she was crying, and as they had done countless times whenever one them was hurt, they tried to cheer her up. “Don’t worry, Bree! If that sneak ever comes back, I’ll box him in the face!” Thomas sniffled. Gordan tried to smile despite his own tears. “Y-yeah!”, he stuttered, “He won’t hurt you with us protecting you!”

Lucille was in the middle of cleaning Sabrina’s wound when Bernard returned. His hair was windswept from the chase, his clothes tussled in a mess. The gun in his hand still had a bit of smoke rising from the muzzle. “Sabrina,” he looked at his child breathlessly. She smiled softly. “I’m okay, papa. I just got cut a bit,” she sniffed. Bernard let out a small sigh, walked over to her, and planted a small kiss on her forehead. “Thank goodness…”

“You should thank Marinette, papa! She scared the burglar away!” Thomas suddenly said.

“Yeah! Sabrina told us that Marinette stopped that creep from hurting her!” Gordan agreed with a glimmer in his eyes.

Bernard looked at his sons in surprise. He turned to his daughter. “Is this true?” he asked. Sabrina nodded in reply. “I d-don’t really know what she did, but that burglar man said he heard her talking to him.” She turned her gaze to the porcelain doll in the cabinet. The rest of the family did the same.

“Marinette…” Bernard exhaled.

The doll watched him approach her. Now that he was close, she could see the tears lining his eyes. “Thank you…” he told her, placing a hand on the glass. “T-thank you for saving my Sabrina..” Marinette could only smile inside. ‘ _You’re welcome,_ ’ she said, but her voice didn’t seem to reach him. The man turned to his wife, a quivering grin on his face.

“See, honey? Didn’t I tell you Marinette was special?” he chuckled weakly.

“I should have believed you from the beginning, dear.” the woman said tearfully.

Lucille looked at her, and wiping a tear away, she dipped her head in thanks. Marinette was glad that she was able to help. She didn’t know how or why, but she had been heard, and her voice had saved Sabrina. She had done something useful. She did something no doll was supposed to be able to do.

‘ _AND YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE DONE THAT._ ’

Her thoughts hissed angrily, and all of a sudden a dizziness hit her. She blacked out before she could even react.

 

* * *

 

When Marinette came to, she was shocked to find that fifteen years had passed – that’s what her thoughts told her. She was still in her case, still in the parlor room, in the same house. But things were different. The furniture had changed, with more pictures hanging from the walls. The knick knacks had increased in number, too. This had come as a huge shock to the doll. Just how much had she missed? She looked around frantically for any sign of the Dupains. What she saw would have made her jaw drop.

“Good morning, Marinette.” Bernard greeted her on the way to the kitchen.

Even he had changed.

His once brilliantly brown hair was now faded, mixed with strands of white hair. His face had wrinkles now, specifically near his eyes, probably from all the smiles he had shared. Lucille followed closely behind him. She too had aged, with a noticeable amount of white her on her own head, and a few wrinkles here and there. The woman greeted her with a small nod. When the children passed her by, she could hardly recognize them.

“Good morning, Marinette!” Thomas grinned.

“Beautiful day today, Marinette.” Gordan smiled.

‘Oh my gosh.’ Marinette said. The boys were totally different now. Once no taller than sofa, they now towered over her, strong and fit in the prime of their life. Heck, she thought, forget that. Thomas had a mustache! And Gordan’s lower jaw was dark with a noticeable stubble. _Mon dieu._ How much she had missed! And Sabrina….

“Ah, Marinette. Good morning! I’m almost done with the new dress for you.” The blonde passed her by with a bright smile.

Dear heavens, she was like a younger version of Lucille. From the ponytail that hung from her shoulder, to her posture, to the way she carried herself so elegantly. Sabrina was the spitting image of the older woman. ‘ _How you’ve grown, Sabrina! You must be the envy of woman everywhere!_ ’ Marinette gushed excitedly. Of course, that was her bias speaking again. But if anyone else saw Sabrina, the porcelain doll was sure they’d agree.

 

* * *

 

So much happened after she regained consciousness.

Thomas had met a lovely woman, Chelsea was her name, and married in the following spring. He left the house soon after that to start his own family. He did, however, promise his family that they’d visit often.

Gordan married two years after that to a perky German pianist named Louisa. They both decided to stay in the house to take over the family bakery. Marinette liked Louisa. The blonde had bought a gorgeous grand piano for the parlor and the doll enjoyed the times when the woman would play on it. She sometimes wished she could play like that. Ah, but dolls couldn’t do such amazing things.

Bernard and Lucille spent more of their time idly chatting in the parlor, enjoying all the wealth they had saved and having a grand time in their old age. Sometimes they’d talk to her while they played chess with each other. Marinette liked those times as well.

Only Sabrina remained single, opting to travel all over Europe to study fashion and art.

It was a little sad that Marinette could only see her during Christmas. She had missed so many years, missed watching Sabrina grow up, and flourish into a successful designer.

That was why she treasured every visit dearly.

She had no time to mope on the years her black-out had taken from her. She was back now, and she was determined to have many more happy memories with the Dupains. Nothing was going to stop her.

 

* * *

 

Except war.

Why, oh why, did a war have to break out?

It had happened so suddenly one year, shocking the residents of Paris and spreading mass hysteria throughout France. From inside her glass case, she could hear the distant sounds of gunfire and screaming. Every now and then she’d hear the rumbling sounds of boots passing by the house as soldiers marched on in patrols. It was a terrifying time to be sure. She was glad that the Dupains were safe; they had fled Paris well before the open-fire and daily gun fights broke out in the streets.

She wished she could have gone with them.

It couldn’t be helped though. They were encouraged not to bring anything except the essentials. And although Bernard and Gordan fiercely argued that she was part of the family, the soldiers just wouldn’t let her come along. Now she was left in an abandoned house, surrounded by the dust and debris that the outside conflict had brought. Several windows were shattered, the shrapnel littering the floor among other things.

There were a few times when a squad of soldiers took shelter in the house. They didn’t stay too long for her to catch their names, but they certainly saw her.

She was the topic of small conversation during the quieter times of the day. She heard them whisper how her eyes were following them. And truthfully they were, but not in a visibly possible way. It was most probably the paranoia, she thought to herself. Paranoia made humans see things that weren’t actually there. It didn’t help that she was a porcelain doll, a kind of toy people were fond of associating mediums of demonic possession with.

‘ _That’s ridiculous! What would a demon do with a porcelain doll? Make it fall and shatter?_ ’ Marinette huffed.

Several squads came and went during the times of war, most of which trekked in with bloodstained clothes and multiple wounds. The carpets that Lucille had always made sure to keep clean were now stained with shades of crimson red and brownish rust. The smell also became more unpleasant. Death consumed the air of the parlor, and Marinette wasn’t the bit pleased about that. Her experience with death left her with an unfriendly view on it. It was inevitable for humans, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to like the fact.

 

* * *

 

 The air was shaking!

If she had said that to herself before, Marinette would have thought she had gone crazy, but it was happening; the air was trembling, sending everything in the parlor to shake violently. The glass to her case creaked and groaned. Cracks were beginning to form. ‘ _Oh dear. This is bad. This is really bad._ ’ she fretted. The outside world had all but erupted in endless gunfire. The city was under siege again! This time seemed so much worse than the last ones. This time she heard the sound of planes roaring overhead. They were aerial assassins of the enemy. And Marinette knew what weapons these machines carried. Bombs.

Bombs were worse than guns. They were bigger, louder, damaged farther and intensely. Most of them made impact with the ground in deafening booms. But there were those that exploded prematurely in the air. They were the ones that sent her case shaking like a leaf in the storm.

Another tremor in the air made Marinette’s case leap from the ground, only to come crashing down to the floor in a noisy shatter.

Marinette blacked out.

 

* * *

 

Marinette found herself in a market stall. It was definitely not where she was expecting to be in when she could perceive again. She thought she’d be on the parlor room’s floor, all shattered in numerous places and yet still existing. A morbid thought indeed, but it was much more realistic than what seemed to have happened to her. She was propped up on a wooden stall, a bit dusty in some places, and with a few minute cracks on her arms, but otherwise unscathed.

“Come and buy my porcelain dolls! Buy two for one cheap! Great condition! Authentic Bisque Porcelain!”

There was a rather tall blond man by the stall, yelling out to the people who passed by. The people would sometimes stop to look at her, mutter some things to the man, but ultimately walk away. Marinette realized something: they was not speaking in French. Their words, the intonation, and even severity of their way of speaking was definitely foreign. Still European, yes, but not French. She could still understand them regardless, a trait shared by all dolls and toys, but it was an odd thing to hear. It didn’t have the fluid smoothness that the French language possessed, having more of a strong, confident tone to it. ‘ _This…..this is probably German.._ ’ Marinette said after a process of elimination. ‘ _Woah, wait. If these people are all speaking German….than that means..!_ ’

Impossible as it was, she was somehow in Germany.

How?

Why?

All good questions, and all without any answers. Her best guess would be that she was probably stolen by some petty thief, and that she was sold many times over, until she ended up in a German marketplace. It might have happened. Could have happened. It was the only thing she could come up with.

‘ _So much for waiting for the Dupains! Now I’m far from my old home!_ ’ Marinette sighed in defeat.

This, this was the life of a doll. This was what her thoughts had meant. She really _did_ have no power over what happened to her. _I should be thankful_ , Marinette sniffed, _I could have been shattered instead_. And she tried to tell herself that maybe her new family would be just as kind as the Dupains. Who knew?

 

* * *

 

She spent several days in the marketplace, during which she was sent to a fellow stall owner who happened to fix dolls. Her cracks were carefully filled in, and she was touched up with color. It wasn’t as skilfully done as Tom Dupain’s, but it at least made her more presentable.

Marinette also made a new friend in a blond doll who called herself Katarina. It was the first time she had ever spoken with her own kind, and she found Katarina a very amusing doll to talk to.

The blond doll spoke of how she had once belonged to a wealthy German family that was struck with poverty after their business went bankrupt. ‘ _I was sold to pay some of the bills, and now, here I am.’_ Katarina shrugged.

‘ _What was your family like?_ ’ Marinette’s eyes were brimming with curiosity.

‘ _Oh, they were really nice. I belonged to the youngest daughter. I loved her, I did. Although I wish she handled me better, because I got cracked a lot of times when she played with me._ ’ Katarina’s voice was all but affectionate.

‘ _My old family ran a bakery. They were the best in all of Paris._ ’

‘ _That sounds amazing! I can only imagine the delicious aromas that must have wafted in your home._ ’

‘ _Indeed! I’m glad I don’t have a stomach, otherwise it’d be growling from all those delicious smells!_ ’

 How nice it felt to have someone to talk to, one who actually heard her. This was what she wished she could have done with Bernard. The blond doll was like a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stagnant condition of her own life. They would talk about numerous topics from the start of the day till the orange of dusk. Whether it was about Parisian living or German culture, or even events in their life, it seemed the things to talk about were endless. She quickly became fond of this newfound activity. With Katarina by her side to talk to, Marinette began to wonder how she’d manage once either of them was sold. She would miss the doll terribly.

She couldn’t speak to any other toy in the stall. None of the other dolls ever spoke. It became clear that they simply couldn’t. They didn’t have the same glint of intelligence in their eyes as she and Katarina had.

‘ _That is because they are, as we say, **die Massenartikel** , mass-produced items._’ Katarina said in a matter-of-factly way.

‘ _What does that have to do with anything?_ ’ Marinette shot her a curious look.

‘ _Everything! Dear Marinette, not every doll is lucky as we are to be able to have thoughts and perceive. In fact, there are very few toys ever made with a consciousness like ours._ ’

‘ _Really? I thought every doll was like us._ ’

‘ _That depends on how they were made. Mass-produced dolls never gain consciousness. Do you know why?_ ’

Marinette shook her head dumbly.

‘ _Passion, Marinette! They were not made with passion. Toys like them, made by cold machines and nearly identical in every way are doomed to be empty shells. It is the craftsman who pours his or her heart into making unique dolls that produce us. Their will, their love, their emotions, these are all transferred to us, and we lucky few are allowed to experience the world of our creators! Isn’t that amazing?_ ’

Katarina’s smile was dazzling to Marinette, and the bluenette could only nod in reply.

‘ _An old porcelain doll told me that we have a special name for toys like ourselves. “Soul Dolls” is what she told me we are._ ’ Katarina added.

‘ _Soul Dolls._ ’ Marinette echoed.

‘ _Exactly! I don’t exactly know if we actually have souls, but it does give one a sense of importance, hmm?_ ’

It certainly did. Who knew that being able to perceive was so rare? She had always thought it commonplace for toys to think and see. The Dupain plush toys did. Did that mean they were Soul Dolls, too? Maybe not dolls, Marinette clarified, Soul Plushes? Was that a thing? Furthermore,

‘ _Why are there dolls like us around_?’ she asked Katarina.

The blond shot her a quizzical look.

‘ _What do you mean? We just do. It’s what we Soul Dolls are._ ’ The blond tilted her head.

‘ _Seriously though. Why can we do these things? What deciding factors ultimately lead us to exist? What’s the point of existing if all we do is just sit and watch? Haven’t you ever thought of that before?_ ’

‘ _Marinette,_ ’ Katarina’s voice became serious. ‘ _You really shouldn’t be asking so much. Dolls shouldn’t do that._ ’

Marinette let out a small groan. ‘ _Not you too, Katarina!_ ’ she said exasperatedly.

Her companion gave her a sympathetic look. ‘ _You hear it too, don’t you? The voices in your head? There’s a good reason why they keep telling us not to question our existence. I get this feeling that….something bad will happen if I try to find out._ ’ Katarina’s voice quivered in nervousness.

‘ _But….haven’t you ever thought about doing more than just….watching and remembering? Haven’t you ever wondered what it’d be life if we could walk and talk like humans?_ ’ Marinette’s tone softened, hoping that her companion could see her point of view.

But Katarina rejected her idea.

‘ _Please, Marinette. Don’t ask me that ever again. We are dolls. We can’t, shouldn’t, be anything else._ ’

There was a finality in the blond doll’s voice that made Marinette drop the topic completely. The rest of that particular afternoon was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

 

* * *

 

Katarina was bought by a little girl two days later, leaving Marinette alone once again, left with only her thoughts to keep her entertained. _Just like the old days_ , Marinette thought with a grimace. Now that she knew what it felt like to talk to someone, being alone became all the more unbearable. She had hoped for several days that another Soul Doll would be place in the stall with her, that she’d have a new companion to share stories with.

That never happened.

She was most grateful when she was finally bought. She honestly thought she’d go mad from all the silence. Unfortunately for her, her new owner seemed just as silent as the dolls.

Her buyer was a peculiar man. His name was Georg Clausse, and he was a pianist. He had no wife, had no children. Aside from the shelves of music books and the grand piano in the living room, his house was quite plain and empty. He only ate bread and butter for breakfast, meat for lunch, and some fruits and vegetables for dinner. Everyday. Without fail. Marinette was sure of this pattern after living with him for four weeks.

Georg was also a very quiet man. His words were few. Sometimes he only replied in single words.

Yes.

No.

Hungry.

Sleep.

He could spend hours on end sitting on his chaise lounge, an arm propped up to keep his head straight, his eyes staring blankly into space. For what it was worth, Georg would have made for a very handsome porcelain doll, what with his beautifully pale complexion and his very doll-like quirks.

Maybe that’s why he bought her.

Perhaps he saw kinship in her?

That thought made her giggle.

He always kept her nearby. There was no glass case for her to be put in, instead she was placed on any nearby furniture to “join him” in his frequent staring. Marinette was very good at that. At one point, she jokingly thought he had bought her to have someone who could relate to him.

The only indication that Georg was truly human was shown when he played the piano.

And boy could that man play.

Contrary to his quiet personality, his music was lively and energetic. It bounced about like a rubber ball, pranced around like a sprightly pup. It glided through the air like a strong summer breeze in an open field. It made her want to get up and dance to it, like humans tended to do when they heard lively music of this calibre.

Even his hands, which slid over the keyboard in surprising elegance, bounced up whenever he hit the keys. His shoulders moved along with his music, his face alit with the brightest smiles she ever saw on a man playing piano. Sometimes, though not often, he even hummed along as he played his pieces, only to cough nervously when he’d meet her gaze.

‘ _Aww, no need to be shy._ ’ Marinette giggled at the man.

Georg’s emotions were showcased unabashed whenever he played, which lent the porcelain doll a unique perspective on the different characteristics that made up her owner. He was truly a cheerful man, who had a seemingly bright outlook on his life, as evidenced in his happy pieces. There were times when he was mellow, usually on rainy days, and it reflected on the slightly sombre tone he put in his music. He wasn’t fond of rainy days, she deduced, as the sound of it muted his own “voice” when he played the piano. Windy days agitated him, and his playing would become aggressive, with his fingers slamming onto the keys a bit harder than usual.

Marinette became accustomed to learning of his mood through his playing. It was a fun way to keep up with the man’s mental state. Lucky for her, the upbeat music far outnumbered the sombre ones. She also learned of the real reason why Georg’s house seemed so unusually empty. With fewer things in the way, his music was free to echo through the house and fill it entirely with his emotions. The acoustic was certainly different compared to that of the piano in the Dupain house.

Over the years Marinette learned to like this quiet man, whose words, as few as they were, always were said with sincerity and seldom with malice. Most of those kind words were directed at her, and usually after he played his piano.

“How was that, my little Fraulein? Did you enjoy that one?” he would ask her in a soft voice.

‘ _Brilliant as always._ ’

Georg, surprising as it sounded, was actually quite the prominent musician. He was often commissioned to perform for the upper-class elites, usually at their extravagant parties or social gatherings. He also played for a number of theatres, and wrote a number of sheet music that music schools used for their students. It was no wonder that Georg was able to afford such an expensive home in the wealthier part of the neighbourhood, and that the rich people were always so courteous to him, and often sent him gifts to praise his musical genius.

Not that Georg really cared.

Marinette knew that the man only ever played in other locations so that he could afford to keep his comfortably isolated lifestyle. “You’re all the company I need, Fraulein,” he told her once while he played. And she knew it was mostly because she didn’t interrupt him while he played, or tried to talk to him when he was focused on his music.

Yes, she was the perfect companion for this man.

The lack of conversation was made up for with the endless hours of music around the house. Marinette’s stay with Georg made her forget momentarily about the questions that always loomed in her thoughts. It was a welcomed distraction for the porcelain doll, and she was able to afford a peaceful number of years simply listening and watching the quiet man play his piano. This flush lifestyle carried on for fourteen wonderful years, all until the year 1930 came and Georg was given an offer to perform for a major theatre in London.

 

* * *

 

London was a decent place to live. The first year there had been a somewhat awkward transition for both Marinette and Georg. They were both so used to each other’s company that this new schedule that required Georg to interact with the theatre performers more often was overwhelming. He was allowed to bring her along, and she’d watch him play atop the piano. Her presence helped with his adaptation to the new situation.

She was also the start of many conversations between him and his co-workers, all of whom were intrigued that he carried her around. This eventually led to the formation of lasting friendships between Georg and the others. Particularly with Victoria Valentine. The young dancer had a love for porcelain dolls, and practically squealed when she first saw Marinette. Georg appreciated anyone who liked his Fraulein, and the two became fast friends.

Georg became wordier the longer he stayed in London. Now his emotions were as prevalent in his voice as they were in his music, and Marinette liked that. Truly, no human should be without the company of another. They weren’t made for solitude. Unlike dolls. Dolls could go on for many years without interacting with anyone and still be sane.

Or at least that’s what she told herself.

She didn’t really believe it.

She’d probably go mad if she didn’t have anybody to at least notice her.

 

* * *

 

It became clear that Georg was more than platonically fond of Victoria. Marinette could see it in the way the man looked at the beautiful dancer, and how his emotions sang clearly in the pieces he played for the woman’s dances. There was no doubt about it.

Her Georg was in love.

It was funny that a man so content with a solitary life had become so invested in another person. It was odd and amusing all at once. From the sides Marinette cheered on for her quiet owner.

He was lucky that Victoria was so sharp in noticing things.

The woman caught on pretty quickly on what he was doing.

“You fancy me, Georg?” Victoria said with what could only be a teasing voice.

“Yes…” came the pianist’s blunt reply.

And Marinette watched as Victoria giggled at his embarrassed blush, and accepted his feelings with a kiss to the cheek.

Georg was redder than a ripe tomato that day.

 

* * *

 

Parting was almost as painful as loss was, if one compared the two side by side.

Georg needed to return to Germany that early spring of 1933. He had received a letter from his parents, who had sorely missed him and insisted he visit them for a few months. He decided it was for the best he go. The man hadn’t seen his parents in five years, and he confessed it would be nice to see them again.

He left Victoria with a promise of his return, that promise being in the form of Marinette.

“She is one of the most important people in my life. I leave my Fraulein to you until I return.” He gave her over to the dancer with a gentle carefulness, and Victoria received her just as gently.

“Do not be gone for too long, my Georg. I shall miss you.” The brunette said with a small sigh.

“I won’t. I confess that life would be miserable without the two of you in my life.” Georg chuckled quietly.

They parted a few days after. Marinette was with Victoria as they bid Georg goodbye on the parting ship. It was only when the ship was far from sight that her new owner let the hidden tears fall down. She wiped them away with a pink kerchief – the one Georg had given to Victoria as a gift – and smiled sadly at Marinette. “I know he will only be gone for a few months, but I miss him already, Fraulein…” she told her.

‘ _Me too._ ’ Marinette nodded.

At the time, all three of them were unaware of the dark clouds settling over Germany. Too late did they realize the storm clouds of war appear, and there was nothing they could do as it consumed all of Germany and spread throughout Europe in a deadly chill.

Georg never returned.

 

* * *

 

War left many people bereft of hope. It drained the happiness of the populous like a leech, depleting morale and communal peace all at once. During these times, the British government decided that a distraction was necessary to keep the spirits of the people up and alive. This distraction came in the form of theatre performances, operas, ballet and the opening of many dance halls. The lights, the music and the company let them forget the misery, austerity and danger of the war for a few short hours. The public welcomed these distractions with open arms.

And so it was during this time that Victoria became a star.

She, with her natural elegance and flowing grace, captured the attention of the crowds as she danced her way across the stage, the spotlight bathing her in an ethereal glow. All who watched her were in awe of her flawless movement. Her performances stole their worries along with their breaths as she moved, modestly and yet provocatively to the songs of ballroom music. Her partner was a big part of why the dances were a success, but everyone remembered Victoria. The Angel Who Dances was what they called her.

But Marinette saw Victoria when she wasn’t dazzling the adoring crowd, when she was sitting in her dressing room, or at her small apartment near the theatre, and she believed that “The Angel Who Weeps” was a better suited title. Losing Georg sent poor Victoria into a startling spiral of depression. It was only through dancing that the woman coped, for she loved the feeling of her body moving with music, and she could imagine that it was her beloved Georg that was playing on the piano. Oh how Victoria missed Georg.

Marinette could only watch the dancer cope with her loss, as she always had.

Victoria sometimes hugged her when it seemed that the grief was suffocating, and Marinette did the best she could to comfort her, whispering kind words that she knew the woman would never hear. These times were when Marinette remembered how useless dolls were. Soul Doll or not, she still couldn’t do a damn thing when it really mattered. ‘ _I wish Victoria could hear me. I can only imagine what she’s going through._ ’ If she could only talk, she knew she could console Victoria and help the girl cope with the loss.

But she couldn’t.

She was only a doll.

And Marinette hated that.

 

* * *

 

She did not want to remember 1940. She could, she always would, but Marinette wished that she could throw away the memories and have them sink in the deepest river.

But how could anyone ever forget such a disgustingly vivid memory as that of someone being murdered?

Marinette had been there when it had happened to Victoria.

The famous dancer had decided to take a break from performing for a while, and to have a week or two to unwind and allow herself to relax. Marinette had naturally come along for the trip, and spent most of the travel hugged safely in Victoria’s arms.

They were to stay at a cozy little villa with the other dancers from the theatre group, though it was not required that they stuck together while there.

She remembered how Victoria gushed about how gorgeous the backyard was, almost forgetting how spaciously luxurious the room and general interior of the actual house had been.

Marinette couldn’t blame her, for the backyard was adorned with an array of flower bushes, and Victoria _did_ so very much love flowers.

Of course the only flowers that caught Victoria’s eyes were the roses. Unlike the usual red shade one usually associated the flower with, these roses were a shade of light pink – Victoria’s favourite color. She spent most of her free time admiring them with Marinette sitting idly by her side. Even her smile, once lost to the grief of losing Georg, seemed to be slowly making a return. The porcelain doll actually thought things were finally looking up for her owner.

 She was proven wrong yet again.

Marinette was with Victoria one evening while the dancer was admiring the roses under the moonlight. The sun had long since set and a comfortable silence had taken over the villa. Only the muted sounds of the people inside indicated any human life. “It’s getting late. We should head back inside and have dinner. Wouldn’t you agree, Fraulein?” Victoria smiled at her and picked her up.

That was when a man crept from behind one of the bushes and jumped at her.

Marinette recognized the man. He was Harold Smithe, one of the stage hands of the theatre group.

His hand covered Victoria’s mouth, preventing the woman from screaming, and threw her back. Marinette was thrown to the ground with a small thud, and she felt her back crack from the impact. From there she watched the man struggle to keep her owner from moving. He took out a ball of cloth and stuffed it in her mouth.

“You know,” she heard him growl, “If you weren’t around, my sister would have been the star of the show! So why don’t you just sleep and let her take over, huh?”

Harold didn’t even let Victoria plead for her life.

Marinette saw him whip out a knife, a sight too eerily familiar to her, and watched as he plunged it deep into the dancer’s stomach. A gurgled cry was all that was heard from the poor victim as crimson blood poured out of her.

‘ _Stop it_!’ Marinette screamed.

He stabbed Victoria again, this time in the chest.

‘ _Why are you doing this?!_ ’

The knife carved its way up her neck.

‘ _Please stop!!_ ’

But this time her voice didn’t reach the attacker, and all Marinette could do was witness the life stabbed out of Victoria. The dancer’s body shook violently in painful spasms, her eyes wide and tearful from the pain. Oh, how the doll could only imagine what the woman was going through. Harold’s thrusts didn’t even falter when Victoria’s cries became bloody coughs. He simply sliced more, cut deeper.

Thrust.

Slice

Stab.

Tear.

Marinette watched him do this over and over until her owner’s voice long ceased and her body had all but stilled. Victoria’s blood leaked to the ground, some of which stained the doll’s skin and dress. The pink roses around them were now stained a crimson red, as if some sicko had taken a brush and painted all over them.

It made her feel sick.

Despite this, the man still had the audacity to continue his slashing. His knife slid over the cooling flesh to reveal muscle and bone, which he quickly then stabbed holes into like some disgusting game.

Harold left after that, his fleeing figure faded into the darkness as he leaped over the fence and into the vast farmlands.

Marinette glared at him long after he had gone. She wished that he would fall into a ditch and break every last bone he had on the way down, possibly even still surviving the fall so that his death would be an excruciatingly slow process. A doll shouldn’t think such dreadful things, her thoughts told her, but the porcelain didn’t give a single damn about her thoughts. Why? Why did this happen? What had Victoria ever done? She knew her, and Marinette would go up against anyone who accused her owner of being anything other than kind and understanding. Victoria was an innocent woman, but she suffered such a gruesome demise. Why?

_Why?_

**_Why?_ **

**_WHY!?!_ **

Why couldn’t she have stopped Harold, have her voice reach him and scare him off, like she had done for Sabrina? It should have worked. There was certainly enough unbridled rage in her to have her shout reach him. And yet it didn’t.

But it should have.

Why didn’t it work? She could have saved Victoria.

‘ _Because you’re a doll. Dolls don’t talk to humans._ ’ her thoughts answered her plainly.

‘ _You…You stopped me, didn’t you?_ ’ Marinette asked herself.

‘ _Yes._ ’

‘ _Why? I could have helped her. I could have saved her!_ ’

‘ _You. Are. A. Doll._ ’

The only thing Marinette wanted to remember from 1940 was that she realized how utterly pathetic being a doll was.

And she wanted no part of it.

 

* * *

 

Marinette went through a number of owners after Victoria, but none of them were really worth a mention. She was much too wrapped up in her thoughts, arguing with herself, insisting that there was something more she could do than just be a passive bystander.

‘ _I want to do things! I want to experience the world as an active participant!_ ’

‘ _Dolls are supposed to sit quietly and observe. It’s what you are supposed to do._ ’

‘ _There must be more than that!_ ’

‘ _There is nothing beyond that._ ’

‘ _Then why do Soul Dolls even exist?_ ’

‘ _Dolls shouldn’t question thin-_ ’

‘ _Again with that ridiculous argument!!_ ’

Over and over the argument would repeat. Decades passed by with Marinette having an endless mental battle with her thoughts. She demanded answers but her thoughts cryptically rejected them. The 1900s faded like a blur into a new millennium, and still the porcelain doll argued with herself. Marinette must have gone through seven more owners before, finally, she ended up in an antique shop in Paris.

The place where it all began.

From her display by the store’s windowsill, Marinette switched between arguing with her thoughts and reminiscing about all she had experienced during her 123 years of existing. Even she needed a break from her never-ending debate with herself. By now her porcelain was cracked and her paint was faded, only her clothes were remotely fresh, which was due to her last owner buying her a new garb to wear before selling her. She was pretty much a relic now. And an expensive one at that.

‘ _I don’t even know who’d want to buy an old doll like me for_ _€26,450. That’s a ridiculous amount!_ ’ Marinette worried.

This was a shady antique store she was in, not a high-quality auction house. What were the owners thinking, putting such a price on her! The chances of her getting bought were close to none! Though it was true, Marinette didn’t pay much attention to her owners anymore, she still liked being owned a whole lot more than being on a store display. At least when she was owned, the people actually _wanted_ a useless doll like her to sit around in some glass case.

‘ _Sitting around is what a doll does, Marinette._ ’ Her thoughts chided her.

‘ _Doing nothing is a pathetic waste of my existence,_ ’ she snapped back.

The porcelain doll stifled a frustrated sigh and turned her attention to the dimming streets of Paris. My how her city had changed over the years. Her poignant position by the window gave her the best view of the outside world in a while – her last three homes had her locked up in gloomy mansions. There were new buildings, and the streets were clean and free from bullet cases and bomb craters. It was as if that war had never happened at all!

And oh how many the people were!

There was such a variety of them walking by the shop nowadays. They came in all shapes and sizes, sporting their own style of clothing, and choice of hairstyle. This “modern world” was also so much more colourful, more vibrant. There was this sense of freedom in the air that the humans walked in, and oh, how badly Marinette wanted some of _that._

But, she reminded herself with a huff, she could never be part of that. Not while she was a doll, an unmoving, unblinking, not-good-at-anything doll.

‘ _Please,_ ’ she sometimes called out to the humans ‘ _do any of you know how I can be human?_ ’

They’d pass her by, unaware she said anything, but she didn’t stop trying.

‘ _What do I have to do to be human?_ ’ Her questions always fell on deaf ears.

‘ _Please.._ ’

No one ever heard her.

‘ _My name is Marinette!_ ’

No one would ever help her.

‘ _My name is Marinette…..and I just want to be human…_ ’        

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she be human? She knew that if she was given the chance, she would give up anything so that she didn’t have to be stuck in her immobile, fragile, hollow shell-of-a-body. Ah, but Marinette was not stupid. She knew how her pleas would always be in vain. No one would ever hear her.

 _It’d be better if I just shattered and ended it all_.

The porcelain doll let out a deep sigh and looked out into the outside world once more. ‘ _I just want someone to hear my wish…._ ’ Her voice cracked from the inevitable fate she had. She turned away from such a beautiful place, just out of reach, but never for her to have.

“Wish, huh? What could a doll possibly want?”

A voice, clear and resounding, caught her off-guard. She looked up, eyes widening, and stared up at the figure before her. Impossible. There was no way….

‘You….you can hear me?’ she gulped.

The figure pretended to contemplate her question, as if it were something really deep and deserved a careful answer. In the end, the figure just shrugged and smiled at her.

“Well, yes. I suppose so. Now what’s this about a wish?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me, dear reader, this chapter could have gone so much longer than it presently has. Those other owners Marinette had? I had fully prepared completely detailed events with them. Even the owners that were in the story were meant to be longer. Then again, I felt I'd be giving everything away too soon. You'll hear more of them in future chapter though, I assure you. 
> 
> Each owner she's ever had holds an important impact to Marinette's personality.
> 
> "But who's the figure who heard Marinette talking at the end?"
> 
> An excellent question, dear reader! Why don't you tell me your guess? Otherwise, you'll find out in the next chapter. See you then.


	3. What Miraculous Luck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear reader, have you ever tried to write a chapter in the middle of a heavy downpour?
> 
> I have, and what an experience it was! Armed with only my umbrella, pen, and paper pad, I sat on the floor of my house's rooftop garden, listening as the pounding torrent battered against the vinyl of my portable canopy. It set up the perfect mood for this chapter, and so I endure the raindrops that eventually had me drenched to the bone, writing furiously on my pad for as long as I could.
> 
> I ended up with a fever the next day, but I'm better now, don't worry!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter. It's not as long as the last one, but that's because there was a part near the end that that I thought would be perfect for a separate chapter. 
> 
> On another note, I found this adorable teddy bear doll in a yard sale I was helping out. She was dressed up in the prettiest teal Victorian dress - complete with a parasol and sun hat. The owner told me the doll was over a hundred years old, and noticing my interest in the old thing, gave the bear to me.
> 
> I named her Victoria.
> 
> Now she sits on my desk while I write my stories, haha.

She stared up at the man in front of her window, her eyes wide in awe. She couldn’t believe it. He heard her. _He heard me_. This….this never happened before. Not in all her years…not since the burglar incident with Sabrina had Marinette ever met a human who was capable of hearing her voice.

But this man had.

He stood before her, his brown eyes showing only curiosity as he waited for her reply. Marinette, for once in ten years of non-stop chatter, was at a loss for words. There was so much she couldn’t quite grasp at the moment, so many questions zipping about her thoughts. This man, this _human_ , had heard her voice, and now he was talking to her. How was he able to hear her? Why could he hear her? What was different about him that gave him the ability to do so? Why was he wearing a red Hawaiian shirt in the winter? Wasn’t he cold? He looked so old and frail; surely wearing so little in such cold weather would make him sick-

‘ _I’m getting carried away!_ ’ Marinette scolded.

She mentally shook herself.

The man only chuckled at her little slip of focus, scratching his grey goatee as he did. “Didn’t think I heard you, hmm?” His accent betrayed his Chinese heritage – although his looks alone would have made it obvious what his ethnicity was. Sabine’s accent was much less noticeable, Marinette mused absently. No, no. Losing focus again.

‘ _I-I wasn’t expecting it, no._ ’ she finally said.

The man’s chuckle became a small laugh, and he shuffled closer to her window. “Not surprising. Young folk don’t really have the patience to listen anymore. Lucky for you, Miss Doll, I am not so young. I’m quite good at hearing things others can’t.” Marinette smiled at him. He had a sense of humor. She liked that. She found herself letting out her own small laugh.

‘ _It’s Marinette. My name’s Marinette._ ’

“That’s a beautiful name. I am Master Fu.”

‘ _Fu?_ ’

“Yes, Fu. It’s supposed to bring me good luck, but it sounds more like a sound effect when you say it out loud.”

The old man put his hands together and pushed forward, uttering a soft “Fu!” as he did. A giggle ripped out of Marinette before she could stop herself, but Fu grinned at her. “Quite funny indeed. It makes me laugh, too.” He straightened up when a couple of teens passed by, not bothering to hide their own laughs at watching the little man who was talking to a doll.

Marinette shot them a small frown.

‘ _How rude of them._ ’ the doll gave Master Fu an apologetic look.

“Maybe. But that’s the good thing about being old; it’s okay for me to act oddly.” He waved it off with his hand. “Now, about that wish of yours?”

Wish?

What wish…?

‘ _Oh! Y-yes. My wish.._ ’ Marinette had totally forgotten about the entire reason for the conversation. Oh, how embarrassing! How mortifying even. When had it become so easy for her to lose her thoughts? _Well_ , she thought _, I am over a hundred years old._ One hundred and twenty-three years old, to be precise. She had a little bit of an excuse to be forgetful, yes?

‘ _Well, you see…..I….I want to be a human._ ’ she hesitated when she spoke, as if some part of her wanted to keep her from saying that.

Marinette had expected Master Fu to laugh at her, to tell her that it was impossible for a doll to become human. She waited for a sceptical brow to rise on his face and to look at her as if she was crazy. Her thoughts always told her that, that she was crazy. They berated her for such a radical wish, one that violated everything that a doll was, and told her it was futile to hope for such things. She feared Master Fu would do the same, and she knew that if she heard that from a human, then it was truly hopeless, and she was damned to be useless.

But the old man did neither.

Instead his gaze intensified, and he merely nodded with a soft hum, then prodded her with a flick of his hand to continue. Marinette felt relief wash over her.

‘ _Er, well, it’s just that…. I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen so many things happen to me! Most of them were good, but there were some that were sad. The sad things always happened to the people who owned me, too. I’ve lost count over how many times I wished I could have done something to comfort them, to help them._ ’

She thought of Bernard, who had cried over the loss of Tom and Sabine.

She remembered Victoria, whose life was stolen from her by a jealous maniac.

‘ _But since I’m a doll, all I can do is…_ ’ she felt a vileness creep through her. ‘ _..sit and watch._ ’ She took a deep breath. It had been some time since she actually said those terrible words herself. It was just as unpleasant to say as it was to hear, definitely. ‘ _So one day I thought, “If I was a human, I could do so much, help so many people!” and I’ve asked every doll I’ve ever met who could talk if they knew how I could become one!_ ’

“And what did they tell you?” Master Fu said patiently.

‘ _That I was being ridiculous and that a doll shouldn’t ask so many questions._ ’ Marinette growled softly at the memory.

“Did they now?”

‘ _I think the problem is that they just accept everything. What a bore! How could they not be curious? How couldn’t they see the appeal in walking, talking, and just… just being alive?_ ’

It was totally boggling to Marinette, how every doll she ever talked to always told her the same thing. Every time she asked too much, they dismissed her for being too inquisitive and curious, traits a doll didn’t need. Shouldn’t have. What were they afraid of? What was the harm in wanting to know? To her, being able to exist and yet be fated to be idle throughout the entirety of it was just a waste! How did they expect her to accept such a ludicrous lifestyle?

“And what _does_ appeal to you about being human?” Master Fu inquired with a tilt of his head.

His strong gaze made her straighten up.

She took a deep breath.

‘ _Humans can make a difference._ ’ Her voice came out clear and resolute, and why wouldn’t it?

This was the truth she knew, _her_ truth.

If Marinette was alive, if she was a human, then she’d be able to do so many wonderful things. She saw humans do it all the time. Tom created her with his own hands, put her into existence. Bernard made delicious bread that put smiles on the faces of so many people. Sabrina designed clothes which brought out the inner beauty of each individual.

Georg filled the world with his brilliant music.

Victoria danced the heartache and worries of a war-tired nation away.

It was so astonishing to Marinette, knowing that one person could make such a difference; every human had such an incredibly large capacity to evoke change. It was a small change, yes, but such an ability was unheard of to dolls, who could only watch the change these people made. A doll could only ever hope to be owned by such people, and she had.

She _had_ been owned by these incredible people.                                                                                

She had seen with her own eyes the amazing things people could do.

‘ _I want to be human…..so I can make a difference._ ’ she said, her eyes aglow with a passion she knew no doll should ever have, and she felt proud of that.

Master Fu looked at her silently, his gaze even but still warm and friendly. Then, after a few moments, he smiled at her. “That’s a wonderful wish, Marinette,” he chuckled quietly, more to himself than at her. He gave her a small nod, and walked away from her glass, and towards the shop door. “Ah, how wonderful!” she heard him chuckle. “Yes, I think you’ll do just perfectly.” He spared her one more look before vanishing into the shop with a swing of the door.

‘ _Perfectly?_ ’ Marinette questioned.

For what?

What was Master Fu talking about?

She turned her eyes away from the window and tried to find the Chinese man from inside the small store. It proved a bit difficult however, since Master Fu was so short and everything around him was so tall. From her spot, she could hear his voice and the shop owner’s engaged in a vague conversation. ‘ _What’s he trying to do?_ ’ The porcelain doll had a hopeful idea floating in her thoughts. Perhaps, just maybe, he was going to buy her?

Oh, she hoped he would.

She felt extra giddy when she heard footsteps coming towards her display. Soon she was able to see both men, and they were walking towards her. She caught Master Fu’s gaze. He flashed her a warm smile. Marinette returned it with her own.

“You sure this is the one you want?” the shop owner said when he picked her up.

“Oh, yes, definitely. Thank you, young man.” Master Fu took her in gently. “My niece will absolutely love her.”

The old man gave a little bow and walked out the shop, porcelain doll in hand, into the emptying streets of Paris. Marinette gasped at the feeling of the cold winter breeze that struck against her. It was such a contrast to stuffy, dry air of the antique shop. There were so many smells that mingled with it too! She took in a deep breath.

Smoke.

Leaves.

Bread.

Coffee.

Perfume.

There was just so much to take in! Her eyes zoomed here and there, trying to absorb every new thing she could see. Winter’s hold on the beautifully lit city was starting to show, evidenced by the bits of frost she saw forming on the lamps. It crept against the metal in fascinating crystal spirals. It was yet to snow, that she knew, but the cold bite in the air told her that soon, very soon, the white blanket of the season would soon descend upon Paris, covering it in pure white.

She looked forward to seeing that.

She had only ever seen them from her window, but she could imagine how amazing it was to actually be out in the open, seeing small snowflakes fall from sky, and trying to catch them on one’s tongue before they hit the ground.

“So,” Master Fu’s voice brought her out of her daydreams, “I hope you don’t mind that I bought you all of a sudden. It must have surprised you.”

Marinette wished she could shake her head at him. Why was he apologizing? What he did was anything but insulting or imposing. ‘ _N-no! Merci, Master Fu! I’m really happy!_ ’ she quickly said, surprising both of them by her rather loud outburst. The old man’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Oh, that’s good.” She smiled brightly at him. _Very good_ , she thought. A nice silence fell between the two as they carried on into the emptier, smaller streets. There were fewer people on these streets, and no one seemed to notice the little Chinese man holding an old porcelain doll.

 ‘ _S-so, who’s this niece of yours?_ When will I meet her?’ she asked after a few minutes passed.

“Oh, that? It was a bit of a lie. I don’t have a niece, see, but I _do_ have a friend I want you to meet.” Master said. He turned around a corner, letting out a small hum as he walked, closer and closer to a rather large building at the far end. Marinette looked up at the sign that hung above door. “Healing Spa” was painted in emerald green on the brown board sign, along with a few Chinese characters below. Marinette could not read them unfortunately, since she had never been in the ownership of a person who wrote words like that. If someone read it out to her, she’d be able to understand it perfectly, but reading was a whole other thing.

Dolls weren’t meant to read, so being able to do so was a skill that a doll had to learn by themselves.

She was proud to say she could read most European texts, what with her roaming all over the place over the decades, but Asian scripts were foreign to her eyes.

“It won’t be long. Just need to….get my keys.” Master Fu rummaged through his baggy shorts and pulled out a ring of the things, which jangled noisily as he tried to find the right one.

“No. Not that one. Hmm, not this one either…. This one? No, that’s for the garage..” she heard him mutter under his breath, which froze into a white fog before him. “Ah! There it is!” he said triumphantly and showed her the golden abloy key. He slipped it into the key hole and, once the door unlocked, shoved it back into his pocket.

“Brr! It’s getting pretty chilly out here! Let’s hurry inside and have some tea. Then we can talk.” Master Fu brushed off the bit of frost that was beginning to form on his moustache.

Marinette laughed.

She thought he’d never notice.

 

* * *

 

Master Fu’s healing room had what Marinette believed was the softest cushion in all of Europe. He had placed her on one while he went to get a table for the tea, and the porcelain nearly _sank_ into its soft, plushy depths. For a doll who spent lots of her years sitting on hard wooden shelves, such a cushion felt like a luxury. It was easy on her cracks, and hugged her lower body perfectly. This cushion was made for her. It must have! 

She silently mused if Master Fu would let her have it.

“Here we are!” Said man hobbled back into the room carrying a small table, which he propped firmly on the mattress floor. He also brought with him a steaming pot of green tea, along with its matching cup, and with a strange little box that he placed in front of her.

‘ _What’s the box for?_ ’ she looked at him curiously.

“I’m getting to that. First, some tea.” he said calmly. He poured some of the drink in his cup and lifted it to his face. The wisps of the tea gave off a relaxing aroma. Marinette mimicked Master Fu and inhaled the air deeply. The man gave a moment to look at his drink, and he swirled it slightly in its cup, and then he drank it soundlessly in such a way that it was almost….elegant to look at. He poured himself about two more cups of the warm liquid before he finally spoke again. Not that Marinete minded. It was actually quite rejuvenating to watch him so serenely enjoying his drink.

It must have been very good tea.

“Now, this box here,” he tapped the black wood of the tiny container. “is something I think can help you with your wish. Of being human, that is.” He reached over and pulled the cover back, revealing a set of red earrings punctuated by five black spots. Marinette looked at the accessory curiously, taking note of the unearthly glow that seemed to be emanating from the item. It was like magic, straight from a storybook, and it was right in front of her.

 _Wait_.

Did Master Fu say he was…..going to help her with her wish?

As in, he was going to make it come true?

He was going to make her human?

She looked at Master Fu sceptically. She waited for a few moments, waited for him to laugh and tell her it was a joke. An incredibly insulting joke, yes, but a joke nonetheless. This was what she waited for, but he said nothing after a minute. And then another passed, and then another. Her blue eyes widened in surprise. He was serious. The old man wasn’t pulling her leg. He was _actually_ going to help her become human. An incredulous smile spread across Marinette’s face at this realization, and she was thankful it wasn’t visible to the man, because she knew she looked absolutely dopey at the moment. She looked back to the earrings.

‘This is, this is for real?’ she stuttered, still in a daze from what was happening.

“As real as you are, Marinette. Your wish is very….admirable, and I think that we will both benefit from it coming true.” Master Fu nodded with a shrug and picked up the box. He got up and went to her side, turning her around so that she could better look at the accessories in his hands. “You want to be like a human, yes? You want to walk around, talk, live in this world like a real person, right?” he asked her.

‘ _Yes. I want that so badly._ ’ she said almost pleadingly.

Master Fu’s smile grew. “If you wear these earrings, it will grant you the form of a real human being. You will be able to do everything you’ve only ever dreamed of doing…..and more.” The last bit at the end had Marinette raise a brow.

‘ _More?_ ’ she repeated.

She saw the old man’s eyes become cool when he nodded. “Yes. You see, these earrings hold a great power in them, a power that you must use to protect humanity when the need arises. These earrings,” he tapped them gently, “have the power to change things for the better. You, Marinette will be the avatar of that change….if you’re willing.”

Marinette knew what Master Fu was implying; she could see it in the way he looked at her. She would become human yes, but her new form would come with a heavy price, a responsibility. When she’d become human, she would have the entire _world_ to keep safe.

That was a lot of people to protect.

The doll’s gaze on the earrings wavered slightly. Was she prepared for this? She wanted to be human more than anything but, with such a high price for it, was it really worth it? Marinette had a vague idea of what was to be expected from her. She would become like those fictional heroes in the books, who stopped evil-doers in their tracks with their supernatural abilities. Behind the honor and the fame of being a protector were the unseen risks. A hero could get injured. A hero could lose their loved ones.

A hero could _die_ protecting the people.

That word alone sent a cold shiver all through her being.

Still.

She would be human.

She let out a small gasp. What was she doing, being all hesitant? This deal, dangerous as it sounded, was a golden opportunity, _her_ golden opportunity. She would be human, and she would be able to live in the world as only a human could. Better still, she would get superpowers and make a real difference. This was everything she ever wanted! All those years of longing, hoping, and dreading would finally end.

All she had to do was say yes.

‘ _Don’t do it, Marinette._ ’ Her thoughts warned her. ‘ _This isn’t right. You can’t become something you’re not. You are a doll!_ ’ The porcelain doll scoffed at the warning, spitefully saying, ‘ _Not anymore._ ’ Oh, how satisfying it felt to say those words. No more. _Pas plus_. _Nicht mehr_. _No_ _más_. _Inte mer._  

She looked at Master Fu with a new flame of determination in her eyes.

‘ _I am willing,_ ’ she said surely.

The old man smiled softly in response. “That’s good to hear. Now,” The earrings began to glow a soft red, gradually, slowly, it brightened the entire room. “I think it’s time you met that friend of mine.” With that, the glow vanished with a dazzling flash, causing Marinette to look away in surprise. When she looked back, she was met with a set of deep blue eyes, the kind of hue that made her think of the ocean during a storm. And yet, despite their color, these eyes brimmed of nothing but friendly eagerness. The owner of these eyes however……well, Marinette wasn’t quite sure _what_ it was.

It looked like some kind of crimson doll, one whose head was way too big for such a tiny body. It had a large black dot on its forehead, with two more marking the side of its head. It also had a pair of what looked to be antennae – they were so thin that she could have easily missed it. There was also the matter that the tiny thing was levitating, hovering up and down in mid-air as though there was some invisible wind keeping it afloat.

“Hello, Marinette!” It spoke with a high pitched, feminine giggle.

Oh, so this thing was a girl then. Right? _Right?_

_‘O-oh, nice to meet you.. um..’_

“Tikki! I’m a Kwami, the one who’ll be giving you powers. Such a pleasure to be your partner!”

Marinette gawked at the tiny ‘Kwami’, as the creature claimed to be. ‘ _P-partner?_ ’ was all she managed to say in her current state. Luckily for her, Master Fu stepped in to her aid. He motioned with his hand to Tikki.

“Allow me to explain. Tikki here is the Kwami – a kind of god - who lives in the earrings, which is one among seven other miraculous items.”  the man said at a thankfully slow pace. “When a person is chosen to wield a Miraculous, the Kwami belonging to said jewellery grants that person the powers of the Miraculous and helps them transform into a powerful hero when danger arises. Did you get that?”

_No._

_‘Y-yeah. I guess so.’ Marinette stuttered._

She flinched when Tikki flew closer to her and perched on her head. “Don’t worry, Marinette! I’ll answer all your questions after we seal our contract. Now, let me just put these on you…” The little Kwami went to get the earrings from their case, musing on how lucky she was to have such a _cute_ partner.

“Ooh! You even have pierced ears! Lucky! You must be a very high-quality doll, Marinette! Not every craftsman can give porcelain dolls holes for earrings without risking breakage or fracture!” Tikki giggled as she fastened the first earring in place. 

Marinette felt herself warm up from that compliment. Yes, Tom was quite the doll-maker. He was the best in all of Paris, she remembered Bernard tell her once, and hearing someone else acknowledge her creator’s skill made her only prouder of the man.

‘ _He was no novice, for sure._ ’ The Porcelain doll hummed her agreement.

She felt the second earring being placed with a small click and all at once she felt the warmth from the Miraculous. It spread throughout the coolness of her porcelain skin, creeping upwards, encasing her entire body in its gentle embrace.

“Ooh! It’s already begun! Okay, Marinette, this is the really important part.” She could hear her Kwami say. She tried to look at Tikki but found that her eyes would not open. The warmth around her was just so….relaxing. She wanted to fall asleep, to take a short nap. Ah, it was almost as warm as Tom’s bakery was.

“Imagine what you want to look like, Marinette! Picture yourself as a human! Think of you face, your body, your limbs!” The Kwami’s voice sounded like a distant echo to the porcelain doll.

Marinette felt so far away. It was like she was no longer in the room, like she was somewhere else entirely. However, she still heard the instructions given to her, and so she imagined. She imagined herself not as Marinette the porcelain doll, but as Marinette the human, who was made of flesh and blood. She pictured her human self standing before her. This version of her was still featureless and plain, like an empty canvas yet to be painted, a music sheet yet to be filled in.

 

Her hands gently touched the corners of the face, and she pictured wide, bright eyes of bluebell that blinked with curtains of long lashes. The brows rode along the shape of her eyes. A nose, small but dignified stuck out proudly. She imagined a smiling mouth with the softest pink lips lining it, punctuated by a small blush upon two prominent cheeks.  Her hair was a flowing crown of evening blue, kept together by the same ribbons she had always worn.

Marinette glided her hands downward, towards the shoulders, shaping them into the perfect width she believed suited her best. Her bosom was of moderate size. It didn’t really matter to her, as long as she had something on there, it would suffice. For a moment she pondered on her hips and waist. She imagined Victoria and how the dancer’s figure was like that of an hourglass, enticing all that looked upon her and mesmerizing audiences with her pronounced curves.

Perhaps she should have that as well?

She rejected the idea with a shake of her head. She was not Victoria. She had to be her own person. And so she shaped her body into a softer, subtler hourglass, innocent and yet with just enough curve Marinette would be satisfied with.

The rest of her body came along after she had figured out the shape, and before she even realized it, her human form was complete, and it stood before her in proud stature.

‘ _I’m done._ ’ She let out a sigh.

As soon as the words left her mouth, her human form reached for her, its hands grasping softly onto the porcelain doll’s face, and drawing her to its own face. Marinette felt the same tingling warmth as their foreheads touched, and then she felt dizzy; her mind went blank.

The last thing she remembered was being embraced and sinking deep into it.

 

* * *

 

A headache, sharp and uncomfortable snapped her from her slumber. She opened one drowsy eye. She felt like she had been dropped from a tall shelf and had hit the ground with her head. Needless to say, she felt pretty sore. She was thankful that she was lying down at the moment; lying down always helped.

“Ow… What a wake-up call,” she heard a voice say her thoughts.

Marinette paused.

_Wait, what?_

Who was speaking?

She pried her other eye open and slowly looked around. She was back in the room again, that much she could tell. Master Fu was by her side, keeping her cool with a little fan. Tikki was there as well, and she was beaming at her with a wide grin. “Great job, Marinette! The contract was a success!” the Kwami cheered. “You’re still adjusting to your new body though, so you shouldn’t move too suddenly.”

“Body?” the voice spoke again.

 _Alright_ , Marinette thought _, who’s reading my mind?_

“W-who’s saying everything I’m saying?” the voice mimicked her once again.

Master Fu and Tikki shared surprised looks, eyes widening ever so slightly, before laughing in obvious amusement. “Marinette, that voice is..” Master Fu began, but Tikki cut him to the chase. “It’s _your_ voice, Marinette! And what a pretty voice it is!” the Kwami smiled.

_What?_

“W-what?” She heard the voice say.

This, this was her voice? Really? Truly? How come she couldn’t recognize it? “This is my….voice.” she murmured. That’s when she noticed another thing: her mouth was moving. It was honestly actually moving! She moved it around again, opening and closing it, and feeling her lips touch each other every time. She blinked in surprise when she felt her teeth clack together.

Woah.

_I can blink._

Was this real? Was this actually happening? This wasn’t just another one of her wishful dreams again, right? She was moving, actually moving, and she was talking with a voice of her own. “No way..” she whispered. She felt muscles, real muscles, move and contract when she tried to move one of her arms. She did the same with the other, and haltingly, awkwardly, she was rewarded with the feeling of smooth, soft hands on her face.

She was touching her face with her own arms.

This was amazing.

She felt her cheeks, her lips, her nose, she even ran a hand through her hair. It felt so smooth to her fingers. “I’m…I’m a..” Marinette felt her voice hitch. She felt a surge of warmth from her eyes, and then felt that warmth run down her face. She quickly caught it with a finger and looked at it. Glistening under the light, her finger held a tear, _her_ tear. Sweet mercy, she was crying. She could actually cry now.

She felt herself smile weakly, and then she laughed. It was soft at first, but then it grew, louder and louder until it became a shout. “I’m human!” Marinette said triumphantly. More tears poured from her eyes. She felt each one of them cascade down her cheeks. She laughed harder. “I’m human!” Marinette repeated. Her hands rested upon her forehead and she revelled in this painfully wonderful feeling, the feeling of being alive, of feeling her chest tighten as she laughed. She let her tears fall freely, not bothering to wipe them away, fearing that if she did, she would no longer be able to produce them.

Her laughter filled the room in a reverberating boom. “This is real right? It’s real? I’m not dreaming” she turned to Tikki, who nodded.

“It’s not a dream, Marinette.” Tikki said, wiping away her own tears.

 That confirmation was all Marinette needed. She was alive, she was alive and she was human. What would Tom and Sabine say if they saw her now? Bernard would have been absolutely ecstatic to know she could finally talk back and have a conversation with him. Georg, she thought bemusedly, would have played her a piece to celebrate the occasion, with Victoria grabbing her to join in a merry dance.

Her laughter began to shift into something else.

Had she been human all those years ago, she would have been able to help out Tom and Sabine in the Bakery. Bernard and she would have had so much to talk about. She could have stopped Georg from going back to Germany. If she had been human back then, she could have hugged Victoria when she cried, and told her that things would be okay, and that she was there for the dancer. Had she been human all those years ago, she could have saved Victoria from such a despicable demise.

Her voice cracked up, the laughter turning sullen, almost bitter.

She had missed out on so much.

There was so much she could have done with all of them. She had so much she wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell them that they were amazing people, and that she was lucky that they wanted her in their lives even though she couldn’t do anything for them. She wished they were here so that she could tell them everything she had to keep to herself.

_Thank you._

_You’re all so incredible._

_I miss you._

_I wish you were here._

_I wish you weren’t all gone_

_I was so lonely._

_I’m still so lonely._

Marinette’s laughter morphed into a deafening wail, which shook her entire body with wracks of pent-up, unbearable grief. “I’m human now! I don’t have to be useless anymore!” she wept loudly, hoping that somehow they would hear her. Gods, what was this feeling? She was over the moon but at the same time at the bottom of the ocean. It hurt, this pain, and she couldn’t comprehend what it was. So she just cried, loud and long into the night until her voice could take her grief no more and became hoarse.

Through it all, Master Fu and Tikki sat by her silently, wiping their own tears as the former doll poured her heart out for the first time in one hundred and twenty-five years.

 

* * *

 

“Here, Marinette, the tea will soothe your throat.” Master Fu said, offering her a cup of the warm drink.

The girl accepted it gratefully with trembling hands; it was a bit difficult to get a hang of having working digits. She grasped the cup firmly, practically squeezing in fear of dropping it, and brought it to her lips. She was grateful that her body at least knew what to do next and she sipped the tea down soundlessly, mimicking how Lucille used to drink her tea back in the day, and with careful poise. The drink was wonderful on her new taste buds. It had a soft kind of sweetness that relieved her aching throat as the golden liquid slid down her gullet. It was a great first taste, she decided, and made a note not to forget the tingling sensation it left on her tongue.

“Thank you, Master Fu,” she croaked, and took another generous sip.

The old man nodded and poured a cup of tea for himself. “You’re welcome. Have as many as you want.”

Marinette nodded. She was grateful that the old man didn’t pry. After she had exhausted herself from crying (and what an odd sensation it produced), he had quietly offered her a tissue to wipe her tears away, and went to get more tea. Tikki was also great support. The little Kwami had flown to her and gave her a much needed hug – true Tikki could only hug her cheek, but the sentiment more than made up for it. Currently her Kwami sat on the table and was busy munching on a plate of cookies Master Fu had brought out.

“That transformation used a lot of my energy,” Tikki smiled at her tiredly. “We Kwami’s recharge by eating food we like. Me, I like sweets – especially cookies!”

Marinette smiled. She would probably like cookies, too. She was yet to taste one, and she wasn’t about to take Tikki’s share, but she was sure that if she had loved the smell of it whenever Bernard baked some, she would definitely enjoy the taste as well. “We have something in common then.” the girl rasped before taking another sip of tea. Her throat still stung. _I don’t like not being able to talk properly. I just got my voice._

What if she’d lose her voice _permanently_ if she cried loudly too many times?

 _Maybe I should practice silent crying. That might help_.

“Do you always need to recharge after a transformation?” Marinette abandoned vocals and resorted to a windy whisper. It felt much kinder on her throat. Her Kwami shook her head and took a bite from her cookie. “Well, that depends. If I transformed you into your superhero form but you didn’t use your secret superpower and transformed back, I wouldn’t really need to eat anything. I would feel a bit tired though.” Tikki said lightly.

“Secret superpower?”

“Every Miraculous holder has one! Yours is called Lucky Charm!”

“O-okay, and what does this…Lucky Charm power do?”

“When you use it, it will give you an item that will aid you to undoubtable victory!”

“And the catch is?” Marinette cocked her head to the side.

Tikki giggled at her. “Very keen of you. The catch is that you have to figure out _how_ to use the item,” the Kwami shrugged. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine! Any other questions?” In response, Marinette tapped her earrings.

“Does my Miraculous have a name?”

“It’s called the Ladybug Miraculous, which embodies good luck and creation!”

“Am I correct in assuming that the creation powers of my Miraculous is what gave me my new form?”

“Yep! Well, that _and_ your own will. We’re lucky that the transformation went off without a hitch!”

“Pun intended?”

Tikki grinned at the bluenette and merely took another bite out of her cookie.

“What about the other Miraculouses? Do they have names too? Where are they? Does Master Fu have one of them?” Marinette pressed on, but just before Tikki could answer, Master Fu made a soft interjection.

“I think that’s enough questions for one night. Or is it dawn now?” the old man said calmly. “All those questions will be answered in time, Marinette. No need to rush. Besides, I think it’s best if you sleep. I’m sure dolls never needed it, but for us humans, sleep is the primary way we restore the energy consumed during the day.” Master Fu stifled a yawn and chuckled.

“Myself included.” he smiled good-heartedly.

Now that he mentioned it, Master Fu was right. Marinette _did_ feel her body becoming a bit sluggish after her little episode. There were minute aches that surfaced every now and again all over her muscles, and her eyes _did_ seem to droop on occasion if she didn’t focus hard enough. Is this what her owners had meant when they claimed they were “sleepy”? It was very uncomfortable, for sure. It would be hard to ignore the discomfort for long. And my, how Marinette disliked discomfort.

“I guess so.” She finally admitted and let out a small yawn of her own.

Master Fu nodded and began keeping the table, along with the plates, the cups, and the teapot (still half-full with the now tepid drink). “You can sleep here for the time being. We’ll discuss your living arrangement later.” He hobbled up with a small grunt and dragged the table with him outside; the wooden legs of the furniture made an irritating screeching sound as it moved.

“Good night, Marinette.” the old man said.

“Good night, Master Fu,” came her whispered reply.

He closed the door with a quiet creek, leaving only Marinette and her Kwami in the room. The bluenette let out a small sigh and flopped back into the soft foam of the bed. Now that she could actually _feel_ things with her body, the cushiony, body-hugging bed felt like a whole new level of comfort. It was probably just her inexperience with the sensation of feeling things, but the girl was pretty sure this was the comfiest bed she’d ever been on. She rolled this way and that to try to maximize her body’s comfort gauge (it wasn’t a real thing, but she was determined nonetheless), and stretched her limbs out to feel the soft white fabric beneath her.

Tikki’s giggle made her look up.

“You’re so cute rolling around like that.” the Kwami said amused. “It’s like watching a little child.”

Marinette blushed lightly at the comment. She vacantly kneaded the extra pillow in her hands. “I suppose I _am_ a child in some respects, if not an infant.” she confessed. “I don’t know how to walk yet, my hands are pretty awkward to use, and I’m fairly certain my knowledge of the world is terribly outdated.”

“You speak very well though, definitely more mature for someone your age.” Tikki commented.

“That’s one thing. Better than nothing, I guess.” The girl gave a small groan.

“You’ll learn! Even though you’re going to be a superhero, the world isn’t in danger _just yet_. You can use this time to adjust and adapt.” The red Kwami flew over and laid herself next to Marinette on the pillow. She gave a reassuring pat on the girl’s forehead, her gaze nothing but supportive. “I know you’ll be fine, Marinette, and I promise I’ll be right by your side. You’ve been through so much today; you should rest now.”

Tikki’s voice, so small and so gentle, was like a lullaby to Marinette. Though she had so much more to ask, and so many things to worry about, these thoughts faded into the background as her Kwami stroked her head and whispered small encouragement.

Sleep visited her for the first time that early morn, bringing with it an all-consuming peace, which wiped away all the conscious cares of reality, and instead replacing them with the wonderfully beautiful world of dreams.

And in her dreams, Marinette was with all the people she had cared about, gleefully showing them the new form she had, laughing without a single care in the world.

 

* * *

 

The following days had been one spent of teaching her of necessary information, knowledge which Master Fu and Tikki believed were vital if she was to ever successfully integrate herself into human society. Things such as modern etiquette and speaking were among the first things she was taught, and the girl eagerly remembered each lesson with a nod, and stored safely into her memory. It was a pleasant surprise to know she still had her doll-like rate of remembering. It wasn’t very human of her, but it helped speed the learning process.

Writing came next, and although her cursive looked slightly off-putting, her script was in the very least legible. “Should I be writing with my right or my left?” she had asked the old man. He told her, “whichever you prefer”, and that it didn’t really matter.

Marinette decided she’d write with both.

Walking was a very messy business, which required an entire day and a half to finish. The fact that her legs were long and supple, a trait women apparently loved to possess for themselves, seemed to make it only harder for her to stand steady. She wobbled and wiggled. She lost count of the times she tripped on the flat floor. Tikki commented that Marinette’s dress wasn’t helping, pointing out that though the Victorian-style gown looked very lovely on the girl, the numerous layers hindered her terribly.

Marinette wanted to protest.

She happened to like dresses, very much so.

Besides, the dress she wore was the one her last owner gave her. It held a good amount of sentiment.

Despite such a compelling argument, Marinette found herself stripped out of her perfectly cozy dress and fitted into a dark blue tank top covered by a large light pink sweater and a pair of black leggings. Funny enough, the clothes belonged to Master Fu.

“I just happened to have them lying around the house,” the man said nonchalantly, casually pushing an expensive-looking paper bag full of modern apparel underneath a table.

It took a lunch break, a little verbal encouragement from Tikki, and a lot of pillows on the ground to cushion her falls until finally, finally, she managed to stay standing. Learning to actually move around while standing was another story, but it ended pretty happily as well.

 By day seven, the bluenette was essentially equipped with the basics. “See, Marinette? I told you that you could do it!” Tikki praised her.

The girl smiled tiredly from her seat on the bed, gingerly massaging the sore parts on her legs and back. “I’m so drained. I think I need a nap,” she groaned tiredly.

“You took a nap five minutes ago! I think you’re fine without one.” Her Kwami giggled.

“Moving around is so tiring! I don’t understand how you humans put up with it every day.” Marinette sighed.

“You’ll get used to it in time.” Master Fu assured her. “More importantly, I’ve already made arrangements for where you’ll be staying. I’ll walk you there myself when you’re done resting.” Master Fu got up from his seat and handed her the same paper bag she had seen days before. “I have no sense of fashion at all, so Tikki came and helped me pick these out while you were napping the other day.”

“So that _was_ for me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise too, but that dress of yours got in the way too much so I had to use one.”

“Where _is_ my dress?”

“It’s folded with the other clothes in there. It’s next to the…um…lingerie.” The old man looked away with a loud cough. “You won’t believe the odd looks the sales people gave me when I bought _those._ ”

Marinette smiled warmly and gave him a small hug. “Thank you, Master Fu! You’ve done so much for me already! I promise I’ll make it up to you someday!” she said with a sniff. The Chinese man simply nodded with a hum.

Oh no. She was _not_ going to cry over this.

It’s not like she’d never see the old man again.

She didn’t want to leave the Healing Spa to be honest, but Master Fu had insisted that there was a better place for her to stay as she tried to find a place in human society. The location had been decided shortly after she told him of her origins, giving him very vivid details of her days spent in Tom and Bernard’s homes. She remembered seeing the idea light up in the Chinese man’s eyes and he said, “I know just the place for you!”

Marinette trusted Master Fu’s judgement. She wiped away her tears and followed him out the building, her Kwami hidden safely in the hidden pocket of her sweater, and the paper bag held in her hands.

“I promise to visit when I can, but I think it’s best if you try to work things out yourself for a while. One learns best by experience after all.” It was hard to make out the man’s words amidst the noise of a bustling Paris. The afternoon saw an explosion of activity all around the city. Cars zoomed down roads with growls and purrs of metal and smoke, while the people on the side chattered endlessly, each heading off to different destinations.

My how amazing being human was!

Marinette struggled not to gawk at all that was happening around her. She had been told that such an action would arouse unneeded attention from strangers, and so she had to admire silently, but she did let a little giggle out every now and again. It was so easy to get lost in such a busy place. Thank goodness for Tikki, who ever so softly whispered a warning whenever the girl lagged too far behind.

“Master Fu’s leaving you in the dust, Marinette!” The Kwami said to her.

“What? Oh no, not again!” She let out a small squeak and hastily ran after the old man.

 

* * *

 

Marinette expected a few mishaps to happen during her first time out, but nearly tripping five times and getting left behind eight times was just embarrassing. “Marinette, stop staring at the fog in the sky! We’re going to lose Master Fu again!” Tikki said in what might have been an exasperated giggle. Was that a thing? Could a giggle sound exasperating?

Tikki’s sure did.

“Right, right. Sorry again, Tikki. It’s just….” Marinette gazed up on the cloudy sheen that had settled onto Paris, bringing with it a chilling drop in temperature, and giving the bluenette an oddly enjoyable tingling sensation on her skin. “I can’t wait for when it snows. When it does, I’m going to run out in the open and catch as many snowflakes on my tongue as I can!”

“I look forward to sharing that experience with you, Marinette, but we should really catch up with Master Fu” Tikki sighed.

_Right. I keep getting distracted. This is most unbecoming of me._

The bluenette tore her gaze away from all the lovely things around her and focused hard on Master Fu’s back. To any stranger who saw her, it looked like she was glaring at the man, and that perhaps the two were a grandparent and grandchild who had argued over something trivial.

At least it worked.

“Here we are, Marinette. Take a look at your new home!” Master Fu turned to her.

The girl looked up and muffled a loud gasp with her mouth.

“No way..” she breathed. “It’s still here? After all this time?”

The corner building before them stood proudly at four storeys, gleaming in a fresh coat of white paint, with windows open and glistening cleanly so, and hosting a beautiful shop on the ground floor. A bakery. Bernard’s bakery. Though it had been recently touched up and the display windows had been modified slightly, inch for inch, it was the same place. The smell of freshly baked bread still wafted out like a tantalizing invitation to outsiders. Even the sign, still written in a gorgeously golden script, had the same name: Dupain Boulangerie Patisserie.

 _Oh gods, it’s still here_.

Her mind went wild, digging deep into the endless vault of her memories to retrieve all the ones she had of this place. Everything else on the street had changed (all of Paris seemed like an entirely different place honestly) but here she was, face to face with her old home, new and modern, but still dear and familiar. It made her chest hurt, and she struggled not to get teary-eyed. Not in public, goodness sakes!

But, oh, how the familiarity and nostalgia tugged at her heartstrings.

“How did you know about this place?” Marinette turned to Master Fu with wide, joyful eyes.

The Chinese man stroked the length of goatee scratchily, and he gave her this smile, knowing and mystifying at the same time. “I happen to buy bread here actually. When you were talking about your old home, there was no doubt in my mind that this was the same place.” he said.

“A-and I’ll be living here?” Marinette’s excitement was so obvious.

“Yes. I’m good friends with the current owner, and he said he’d be more than happy to have you.” Master Fu nodded.

Tikki peeked out of Marinette’s sweater pocket. “Wait, does he know about Marinette’s real situation?” the Kwami’s voice matched the surprise in her eyes.

“Yes, actually. Not to worry though. He can be trusted.” The shop door swung open not a moment later, and a man walked out. He had a flour-stained smile, which seemed as warm and friendly as the bread scent that stuck firmly to him. What looked to be jam smeared the frilly green apron he wore, which boasted a comical “Whisky Business” print on it.

“Master Fu! You’re here!” The man walked over to the group and bowed politely at the elder man.

“We’re a little late though. I apologize. This one here was too distracted by the afternoon traffic and winter fog.” Master Fu chuckled and patted Marinette on the back.

He turned to her and caught her gaze, and his eyes lighting up with an enthusiasm that was hauntingly too familiar to her. He shook her hand firmly. “Marinette, was it? I’m sure we’ll get along famously.” he grinned happily. “I hope you don’t mind helping me out with baking every now and then. My part-timers never stay around long enough and, if what Master Fu told me was true, you have quite the history with this old bakery.”

She could only stare at him dumbly.

“Here, let me take your bag.” She didn’t stop him.

“Are you guys hungry? I just cooked up a wicked batch of chocolate chips and croissants.” The man looked from Marinette to Master Fu, and then back to her. She still didn’t respond.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

She couldn’t believe her sense of perception.

Was this an illusion? A trick of the mind?

How was he here, looking so strong and youthful, when last she saw him he was old and greying?

His wild mess of hair was the same shade of chocolate brown, with wide eyes the color of a summer sky, which shone just as bright. His body was the same, lean, lithe shape, and even his slightly slouching posture was similar. _No,_ she thought after a moment. This wasn’t, couldn’t, be Bernard. He was an old man the last time she saw him, and that was dozens of decades ago. This man didn’t have Bernard’s moustache either. He had a light stubble that traced the length of his chin and jaw instead, which he scratched absently as he looked at her worriedly.

“Uhh, you okay, kid? Or is madam?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

Marinette shook her head furiously, both in reply and to clear her clouding thoughts.

“A-ah, yeah. Sorry, kind of spaced out a bit. I seem to do that a lot now.” Which was the truth in all honesty. She wasn’t about to tell the guy he looked exactly like her dead owner. That would be weird. And uncalled for. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name though.” She quickly accepted the hand he offered her and let him lead her into the bakery. He smiled at her.

“The name’s Baxter, Baxter Dupain. Welcome home, Marinette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun little activity for you, dear reader!
> 
> Assuming you know what the name "Dupain" means (and if you don't, sweetie, it means "of bread" or "some bread"), try to find out the meaning of Baxter's name! If you've figured it out, feel free to leave your answer in the Comments - and maybe also your thoughts on the chapter? Hahaha.
> 
> Until next time, dear reader!


	4. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is your newest chapter, long and lengthy, but hopefully still entertaining. This chapter took even longer than last chapter because I went into a meta-crisis about the ML lore and how I'd fit it in with my story's lore, and there was much pondering and gnashing on shirt cloth. That problem's been resolved though. What a relief.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, Sweetie!

Marinette was right. She _did_ like the taste of cookies.

Baxter had a hot plate full of the sweets on the counter with a pitcher of milk to complement it, which he claimed was specifically made for their visit. Tikki immediately flew to the plate of chocolate chips with a happy giggle, sparing Baxter a passing smile as she all but dove into the large baked pile. “My goodness, these cookies are amazing!” the Kwami said between mouthfuls of crust and crumb.

Master Fu took a seat and helped himself to a croissant instead and quietly smiled his approval of the food as well. “Don’t be shy, Mdme. Marinette! Have some. Trust me, they’re always better when fresh.” Baxter propped himself on a seat and pointed to the vacant one beside him. “Oh, unless…you don’t need to eat?”

A small growl from her stomach answered for her.

“My body seems averse to that statement.” Marinette smiled shyly and sat down. She picked up one of the cookies, feeling its warmth and crusty texture against her fingers, and took a small bite. As soon as her taste buds touched the baked treat, it sent a ripple of satisfaction tingling from the tip of her tongue to the base of her throat, and all around her mouth. So this was what sweetness was!

She chewed eagerly in an instant and was rewarded with a larger release of sweet goodness from the cookie that was melting in her mouth; a combination of butter, milk, and chocolate swirled about and made her sigh. It was quite loud actually, enough to make Baxter chuckle.

“So I’m guessing you like them?” He raised a brow at her.

“‘Like’ would be a poor understatement to how your cookies make me feel right now.” The bluenette whined happily and partook another bite from her cookie, which made her sigh in contentment. “Ish sho good,” she muttered. Baxter’s smile widened into a toothy grin, and he helped himself to a piece as well. He didn’t eat it immediately like Marinette had, instead opting to look it over like a piece of art.

“What, these old things? That’s beginner stuff. Just wait ‘til you taste my éclairs.”

“If these cookies are just so-so to you, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle your best goods.”

“You’ll get used to it. You’ll be living with me now and in my house, we eat sweets every meal!”

Marinette was all for that idea.

Tikki cheered in agreement.

It was only Master Fu that wasn’t so inclined to it. The old man shot Baxter a weary smile. “You _will_ remember to feed her meat and vegetables though, won’t you?” Master Fu said. “Seeing as how you’re all grown up, and capable of making the _right choices_ , surely you’ll set a good example, right?”

Baxter made a face. “That means I’ll have to eat vegetables too, huh?” he groaned. “Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate ploy to get me to eat healthier? I wouldn’t be surprised. You never did like my all-bread diet.”

“It’s not so much about your all-bread diet that bothers me. It’s more about how they’re always desserts.” Master Fu rebuked sharply.

 “Mdme. Marinette doesn’t seem to mind!” Baxter motioned with his thumb to the blunette.

“Actually, you can just call me Marinette…” she quietly interjected.

The baker nodded. “Marinette doesn’t mind!” he rephrased.

“I actually have to side with Master Fu on this one though. Eating sweets is fine, but a diet exclusively of them seems unhealthy.” Marinette hastily added.

Baxter turned to the girl with an expression of mock hurt. “I thought you liked my cookies.” he grumbled, to which the blunette giggled softly in response. “I do. I just don’t want to get sick of it after eating them every day. It’d be such a waste of a good dessert.”

Marinette took the cookie from his hand. “I’d feel horrible if I ended up hating such tasty little things.”

She took a bite from the sweet and let out another happy sigh. “They really _are_ delicious, too.”

“You’ll love my lemon merengue pies.”

“I’ll look forward to them after a proper meal.” Marinette smiled warmly.

She knew she had won the argument when Baxter let out a defeated sigh. He looked at her bemusedly and nodded, and then shot Master Fu a glare. “I’ll have proper meals. But only so I can let Biscuit here try my sweets – and see how awesome my diet is.”

The girl looked at him oddly. “‘Biscuit?’”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, that’s what I’m calling you from now on. You don’t mind do you?”

“Not at all. It’s normal for humans to give each other, what was it called? Nicknames?”

Baxter gave her a thumbs up. “You bet. Besides, I remember old Fu here telling me you were a Bisque Porcelain kinda doll before. Seems suitable.”

_Oh_.

He was right.

It did make sense.

“How are you so calm knowing I used to be a doll? Doesn’t it perturb you in the slightest?” The bluenette took a bite from her cookie.

“I’ve known Master Fu since I was a kid. I’ve seen some pretty weird shit-”

“Language.” Master Fu admonished.

“I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in all my dealings with him. I don’t really mind.” Baxter shrugged.

Marinette was impressed by his acceptance. As far as experience went, she knew humans were always more inclined to rejecting the unusual and abnormal. It was an accepted norm in society, one she wasn’t particularly fond of, but her opinions hadn’t mattered then.

Baxter thankfully seemed to walk the unused path, straying from the main roads while exploring the dirt trails of forest paths.

She liked that.

“How much did Master Fu say about me?” she inquired with a tilt of her head.

Baxter grinned and passed her a glass of milk (it tasted great with cookies). “Not much. Just that that you lived in this place before, that you were a doll who wanted to be human, and that he gave you a Miraculous so you could.” He seemed to have caught the suspicion in her eyes because he chuckled at her and said, “Yeah, I know about Miraculouses. It’s still a pretty big secret though, so keep this hush-hush.”

“It isn’t Marinette I need to be worried about over the secret being kept.” Master Fu said, sipping his milk quietly with his croissant.

Baxter huffed. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I wonder why?”

“Hey, I was ten that time! Besides, nobody believed me!” the baker argued.

Tikki popped out of the cookie pile and giggled. “You must’ve been such a troublemaker back then.” the Kwami giggled.

“He still is.” Master Fu raised a brow at Baxter.

Marinette contained her own giggle by downing the milk in her glass. _So they’ve known each other for quite some time_. There was a certain degree of endearment in Master Fu’s scolding, one she’d usually only hear from a parent to their child. Or perhaps, she thought, they were a student and teacher? That sort of relationship gave off similar vibes.

“Can you believe this guy, Biscuit?” Baxter turned to her with wounded look. “I offer my humble home to you, no strings attached, and he still insults me.” He shot the old man yet another playful glare. “You just can’t please old people.”

Marinette grinned. “I’m pretty old, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re nice to me so you don’t count.” The baker winked at her.

She saw Master Fu roll his eyes at the young man. “Will you be able to handle this man, Marinette? He really is quite a handful.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. He’s like Bernard, really. A bit energetic but overall well-meaning.” She smiled over those fond memories. Now it was Baxter’s turn to look surprised, and his jaw almost dropped open when she had uttered Bernard’s name.

“Woah, hold up a second.” He placed pushed his glass aside and swung his chair around so that he faced her fully. “Are you talking about my great-grandpa Bernard Dupain? Like, you knew him?”

“Owned by him, actually. Your great-great-grand uncle made me, and when he passed away, Bernard took me in.” Marinette gave a small nod.

“Hmm, yeah, I guess. I do remember grandpa Gordan talk about an old doll they used to have-” Baxter let out a loud – almost cartoonish – gasp and slammed his hand on the counter. Marinette nearly fell out of her chair in shock.

“Marinette! That’s it! That’s why your name sounded so familiar! I heard about you! Grandpa Gordan used to tell me stories about a doll saving his sister when they were kids! That was you?!” Baxter’s grin widened to almost Cheshire Cat lengths.

“Well, yes. I was quite happy with myself about that incident,” the blunette said.

 Baxter looked absolutely thrilled. “No way. That is awesome! Grandpa told me they lost you in the war though. Where’ve you been all this time?”

Marinette thought about all the countries in Europe she had been to, and all the things she had seen. If she’d go into detail about it, they’d all probably be seated for another day. So instead she shrugged and picked up another cookie, offering the baker a simple, “Lots of places.”

Baxter leaned back into his chair and ran a hand through his head. He turned to Master Fu. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“I pieced things together after she told me her story. I felt she’d be better off back with family.” The old man beamed warmly at Marinette.

She in turned returned it with her own smile.

“Family,” she echoed thoughtfully. It sounded nice to say.

Indeed if there was anyone she could mostly equate to that word, it’d be the Dupains. After all, a Dupain did make her, and it was with the Dupains that she shared her earliest memories with.

“Holy shit! I guess this really is your home, Biscuit!” Baxter laughed.

“Language.” Tikki reminded.

The brunette waved dismissively at the Kwami. He placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder and smiled. “Well, let’s get along from now on, Biscuit! _Mi casa es su casa_!”

“ _Agradezco su hospitalidad_ _.*_ ” Marinette smiled brightly.

Baxter blankly stared at her. “I have no idea what you just said,” he confessed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you actually spoke Spanish. I meant to thank you for your hospitality,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

That, he understood.

“No problem, Biscuit. From now on, you can consider me your handsome, wickedly talented big brother!” Baxter nodded. Master Fu let out a rather loud cough, earning the old man a glare from the young baker.

It was at this point that the old man decided it was time to leave. He got up from his seat and turned to the three at the table. “I believe everything’s in order now. I’ll leave Baxter in your capable hands, Marinette.” He ignored the baker’s protest. “Take care, you two. I’ll be dropping in every now and again.”

And with that, he left the shop, leaving the bell above the door ringing to signal his departure.

Now it was just Marinette, Tikki, and Baxter.

“Well. Shall we head upstairs?” the brunette picked up her bag and walked towards a door behind the counter.

Marinette quickly got up and nodded, ignoring how she nearly lost her balance mid-step, and followed behind him; Tikki flew back into the sweater pocket.

 

* * *

 

 

She was surprised how much the rest of the building had changed inside. The parlor had been completely converted into a kitchen now. Gone were the sofas and the numerous knickknacks, replaced by beautiful quartz-topped counters and an assortment of stainless steel tools. Large fridges dominated one wall. A couple of ovens stood neatly in a row, with an old-fashioned brick oven tucked cosily by a corner. The door that once led to a guest room was now a large steel door. It had a sign pasted on it that read “FREEZER”.

Marinette was amazed and saddened all at once. While the modern beauty of a room dedicated to baking was quite a sight, the rustic, homey parlor was what she had hoped to see, for it had been her home once, and it was in that home that she had very fond memories in them.

Her cabinet was gone, and so were Lucille’s carpets, and even the trinkets Bernard collected were gone.

It was the same room.

But there was nothing to recognize.

The floors were different now, too. They were once a polished parquet hardwood flooring but now they were glistening white tiles of marble. Beautiful, but not homely.

“You’ll be working here with me when I need help.” Baxter told her as they passed through the room. “I usually have part-timers around when I have big orders, but I can handle the everyday stuff. If you’re lucky and wake up early enough, I’ll even give you a piece of the day’s first batch!”

Marinette gave an uncertain nod. “I’ve never baked before though, so I might be more of a nuisance.”

“That’s what practice is for, Biscuit! You think I could make those tasty cookies when I first started out?” Baxter laughed and carried on to the next area.

The stairwell, which Marinette had only been to twice before, seemed relatively unchanged, save for the new floor carpet and coat of varnish. The second floor made up for the lack of difference though.

_Great_.

Back in the day, the second floor had been an open living area, with only one room that was used for storage. Like the parlor, it had beautiful furniture and an array of pretty trinkets. Now there was a wall. A big, claustrophobia-triggering wall that made the hallway look far too small. A couple of doors were on that wall, and with each door there was a doorbell and empty name tags. All in all there three doors.

“What’s all this?” she pointed at the offensive wall.

Baxter glanced at the doors. “Oh, those are apartments. I usually rent ‘em out to tourists during peak seasons.”

“‘Rent them out’?”

“It was my parents’ idea. We needed more money and the house was pretty big, so we remodelled the floor to rake in extra cash. These rooms make a killing during summer and the holidays.”

“What about the floors above?”

“Third and fourth floor’s all ours. That’s where we’ll be living. I redecorated the attic and made it into a room for you.”

Baxter paused in place. “I, uh, well, you wouldn’t happen to like pink, would you?”

“It’s my favourite color actually.” Marinette replied softly.

The man let out a loud sigh. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Is my room pink, by any chance?” the bluenette quirked a brow up.

Baxter didn’t meet her gaze and continued the trek upstairs. “Well, it isn’t _blue…_ ”

Marinette giggled softly at the man’s slightly red ears. _He’s a lot like Gordan, too_. Unlike the second floor, the third floor had always had a wall to divide rooms, and so there wasn’t much for her to complain about. In fact, there were actually _less_ doors now than there were in the past. When she had lived with Bernard and his family, there were four doors on the third floor. At present, there were only two doors, each on opposite sides of the stairs. Baxter pointed to the door closest to the landing.

“Ah, here we are.”  He quickly unlocked the door and ushered her inside, giving a little bow in a showy, amusing display. “Ladies first, Biscuit,” he said with a smile.

“You know, the nickname kills the mood,” she chuckled and went right in.

The actual living area was a lot smaller than she had thought. It was roughly the size of the bakery and then some. It was nothing compared to the kitchen downstairs in comparison, but at least it wasn’t suffocating. It was actually the first homey room she’d seen since she arrived.

And it was pink.

That helped as well.

“Did you decorate this room too?” she asked, eyeing the pastel pink sofa set before her.

Baxter let out a snort. “This is mom’s work. She was obsessed with pink, and dad never really complained.”

He leaned closer to her and whispered, “I think he was too afraid of mom anyway,” and then he laughed.

Marinette scanned the room once more, taking in the rather large television set that stood sleek and slim atop a small drawer and faced the sofa, and of the mahogany dining table that stood ridiculously close to what was possibly the kitchen area. It was weird how close everything was. There weren’t any walls to divide the parts that usually had their own separate rooms in the past. Not that that was a bad thing. It was quaint in its own way. The kitchen in this room consisted of a single stove, a pair of stainless steel sinks, a microwave, and a blue fridge.

She quietly pondered on why the fridge had to be blue, and a sky blue one at that, when everything else went along with the pink theme. Everything was complementary to the color scheme, and even the few green plants that were laid about weren’t too distracting.

And then there was the blue fridge.

It just stuck out so much, not unlike a sore thumb, she mused.

Tikki flew out of hiding and observed the odd appliance. “It’s really….different.” her Kwami said.

“I didn’t even know they made fridges in this color.” Marinette nodded.

Baxter joined the two in their staring. “Me neither. I honestly don’t know why mom bought this thing, but hey, it keeps food fresh and cool. I think we can live with it.” he shrugged. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

They went up a small set of stairs that led into a small hallway. Baxter explained the two doors in it were his bedroom (on the left) and the bathroom (on the right), with the ladder at the end of it leading to her room. He went up that ladder first and waited at the top for her, patiently – and most probably entertained – as the bluenette tried to climb it without falling.

Of course she slipped on the last step.

She would have fallen flat on her rump had Baxter not caught her arm.

“How long have you been human again? Because we seriously need to improve your limb control,” he said with a chuckle and pulled her up.

Marinette tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her blush of embarrassment. “Walking and holding is a lot harder than I thought.”

“Hey, all humans crawl before they run. It took me a whole year to learn to walk when I was a baby, so you’re still a speedy learner. Don’t worry. I’ll help you out.” He stood up and looked over the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

She looked up.

_Mon dieu!_

Baxter had not exaggerated when he told her that her room was pink, because it was. It was a whole explosion of pink. Marinette had never been in a room pinker than this and – goodness, was that a pink lounge chaise?

“Impossible! Where did you get this?!” Marinette almost knocked Baxter over as she stumbled over to the stunning piece of furniture. She plopped herself onto the chaise, and marvelled at how it softly hugged her – similarly to how Master Fu’s bed had. The pink-with-white-polka-dot body was a pleasant pastel hue, and the plum cushion and headboard looked so perfect with it. That wasn’t the best part though.

This was the same model of lounge chaise Georg had in his old home!

From the length of the sofa to the very shape of the headboard, this was like a pink version of Georg’s chaise.

And she loved it.

She scrounged up her many memories of her former owner sitting on the sofa, picturing the pale man reclining oh so elegantly against the cushion and propping up an arm to hold his head up. She had always wondered what such a position felt like, and now was her chance! She did her best to replicate Georg’s pose, propping her own arm on the wood of her chaise, and letting her chin rest on the knuckles of her hand.

She let out a gasp.

This was incredible!

_Incredibly uncomfortable!_

How in the world had Georg stayed like this for hours? Did he not feel the annoying pain at the back of his neck with how it was angled so high? Was he not aware of the weight of his head pushing his arm into the edges of the wood? Because she could, and it was quite unbearable. Heavens, how had her owner put up with this?! He looked so peaceful though. A frown crinkled her face.

Perhaps she was doing it wrong?

“What’s with the frown, Biscuit? You looked so hyped when you saw that old chaise.” The Baker’s voice brought her out from her thoughts.

She let out a small groan. “It…..it’s a lot less comfortable than I imagined.”

Baxter scoffed. “You’re position’s all wrong, that’s why. Here, let me show you.”

She watched the man walk over to her. He gently pushed her until her back rested straight on the backboard cushion. He angled her arm a little farther from her, and bent it till it was lower than her chin, which he then made rest on her knuckles. “How’s that?” he tilted his head sideward.

The cramped feeling had totally gone. “Amazing! This is much better! You’re incredible, Baxter!”

“Pssh! You’re too easily impressed, Biscuit. But thanks.” He took a seat beside her and gave her a curious look. “This thing bring back old memories?”

Marinette nodded. “An owner of mine used to sit on his chaise for hours. Whenever he took a break from playing his piano, he’d plop himself down and sit just like this.”

“I’m glad you like this old thing. It was my mom’s favourite thing to sleep on when I was young.” Baxter smiled.

She turned her gaze to him. “Where _are_ your parents?”

“Them? They’re travelling all over the world. They’ve always been the free-spirits. Left a month after I took over the bakery. That was two years ago.”

“Do they visit often?”

“Well, they send me post cards now and then, but no, not really.”

An endearing look took over his features. “I do miss them, but it’s nice to know they’re enjoying retirement.” He gave her a friendly wink and added, “With you and Tikki around though, I won’t feel as lonely.”

That made Marinette feel a trickle of warmth course through her chest, and she couldn’t help but feel happy.

“The feeling is mutual.” she said, shooting both the man and her Kwami a warm smile.

Tikki let out a small giggle and flew around the room. “Ooh! You’ve really got an eye for decorating, Baxter! Everything looks so good together!” the little kwami cooed.

“Praise will get you everywhere, Tikki.” Baxter laughed.

“Praise is given where it is deserved, you silly man! Marinette, you agree with me, right?” Tikki turned to her.

The bluenette looked at the rest of her new room, and after a moment, nodded. “It _is_ very impressively laid out. And it’s pink, so that’s a big plus. Oh, is that a computer on that table?” She pointed to the white monitor that stood pristinely with its matching keyboard and mouse.

“Yeah, she’s all yours. I’ve got a laptop of my own so I don’t think I’d have used it that often anyway.” He flinched when he heard a small beep come from his pocket. Swiftly he took a phone out, and he stood up like a shot.

“Ah, crap! It’s Mrs. Schneider! She’s coming to pick up her cupcakes in an hour!” he cried.

He hastily made his way to the trap door. “Shit, I still have to decorate those things!”

“Language!” Marinette and Tikki said in unison.

 The man spewed hurried goodbyes as he slid the door open and leaped down, and then there was silence.

Marinette stared at the opening on the floor.

And then she began to giggle.

She giggled loudly, and Tikki quickly joined in with her own laughter.

“You think he’ll be okay?” Tikki said after the laughter had died down.

Marinette grinned merrily. “He’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Baxter served a hot meal of cooked new potatoes seasoned with butter, salt, and just a dash of parsley. With it was a side of a crispy, golden-brown chicken fillet, which was drizzled with a thin helping of lemon cream sauce. It created a pleasantly savoury scent that made the bluenette’s mouth water.

“ _Bon appétit,_ my friends!” the baker said proudly. “As promised, Biscuit, you have your vegetables. And for you, Tikki, a plate of butter-oatmeal cookies. Fresh from the oven.” He pushed the plate of baked goods to the Kwami.

Marinette looked at him. “So where’s the dessert?” she smirked slyly.

He smirked at her and walked over to the fridge, producing a large wedge of blueberry cheesecake. “Made this myself a couple of days ago. I had the ingredients and a whole bunch of these blueberries, so I thought, ‘Hey, why not?’ and made them.” Baxter sliced the wedge into three pieces and placed it with the rest of the food.

“It looks stunning.” Marinette eyed the blue sauce that glistened under the light.

Baxter took a huge bite of his chicken. “It’s all right, I guess. I mean, it’s no Baked Alaska, but it’s appealing in its own way. Hurry up and eat your dinner, Biscuit. The sooner we get to the dessert, the better!”

“You shouldn’t teach her to eat so fast! She might choke.” Tikki scolded as she stuffed three whole cookies into her mouth.

It was quite unsettling to see.

The Kwami’s maw practically unhinged to accommodate the large piece of food.

Baxter let out a huff and stuffed another piece of chicken in his mouth. “Hello pot, I’m kettle.”

Marinette decided to take little bites, slowly but surely making her way through the meal. The potatoes were a perfect companion to the crispy chicken, and she enjoyed hearing the satisfying crunch in her mouth as she chewed the foods together. Ah, she liked eating. She could get used to this.

“How did you cook this?” she looked at the baker.

“One word, Biscuit. Microwave. Saves cooking and wash time.”

She took in the last piece of new potato. “How innovative! Technology has advanced so much over the years.”

With her main course over and done with, she reached over and tried, which was the keyword, to pick up her share of the cheesecake. It was literally over her plate when her hand suddenly decided to spasm out and made her drop the piece with a loud splat. Some of the blueberry sauce was flung towards her, staining her clothes, her face, and her arms with its sticky liquid.

“Oh dear.” Marinette harrumphed.

What a waste of blueberry sauce!

And now her sweater was stained.

She was also dirty.

The doll in her screamed in terror at the last part.

“Ah, geez, kid, look at you.” Baxter got up to get some paper towels and hastily wiped off the sauce from her person. “We’re going to work on your limb control and hand-eye coordination ASAP.”

The bluenette took a sheet of towel and wiped the blue sauce off her arm. “I feel mucky.” she grimaced. “How horrible.”

Baxter let out a sigh. “Looks like you’ll have to take a bath after this.”

“Oh, no need. I’ll just wipe myself clean.”

“Wiping’s not gonna clear all that sauce properly. A bath’s the best choice, Biscuit.”

Marinette hesitated. “Uhm, well, funny story about baths.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t taken a bath before this?!” Baxter looked stupefied.

Tikki answered for her and floated to her side in defence. “Marinette wasn’t really comfortable with the idea. She just wiped herself back at Master Fu’s. Besides, she didn’t really smell bad anyway.”

“I think the porcelain doll in me just couldn’t stand the idea. It’s risky to bathe a doll.” Marinette added softly.

Bernard wiped off a bit more sauce from her cheek. “Yeah, well, you’re human now. You’ve got to get over your doll tendencies. Humans bathe, Biscuit. Daily even.” He paused when he saw how uncomfortable she was at the idea. He let out a sigh and kneeled beside her. “Look, if submerging yourself in a tub is too nerve-wrecking, you can always shower.”

“Well…”

“Don’t worry, Marinette! It won’t be so bad. I’ll be there with you in case you need help.” Tikki smiled at her.

Marinette gulped. _Oh dear_. They were both right. She was a human now, and humans had to bathe in order to stay clean. If she was to live like them, she had to follow their customs and rituals. But, even then, a part of her shivered at the idea of having water poured on her.

Porcelain dolls weren’t meant to be bathed. They were to be wiped with a damp cloth and be reapplied with a fresh coat of paint-

_I am a human now_ , she chastised.

Humans took baths.

Ergo, she would take baths.

That was it. Simple and easy.

And yet, as she ate her slice of cheesecake, she couldn’t help but feel her stomach churn with anxiety. This was going to be difficult.

 

* * *

 

“I can do this.” Marinette told herself as she stood before the bathtub.

“You can do this!” Tikki cheered from the sink.

Baxter had briefed her on how bathing was done, telling her about the use of shampoo and body soap, and how it was to be used when bathing. He explained the stages of a bath: the wash, the soap, and the rinse. He said it was “easy-peasy to do” and that even she would be able to do it. She tried not to take offense to that.

“And don’t worry about slipping on the tub, Biscuit. I stuck a whole bunch of adhesive stickers on the floor.” He told her this just before pushing her in the bathroom with a towel and a change of clothes.

She peered down at the porcelain tub and noted an assortment of what looked to be colored ducks plastered on the ground. Gingerly she stepped inside and felt the bumpy texture of the duck stickers keep her foot steady and firmly rooted. “Well, here goes nothing.” She removed her clothes slowly so as not to get caught halfway (which she had the first time she put them on) and laid them folded on the floor outside, after which she pulled the curtains closed.

It felt odd to not be wearing anything, to be in the nude, to be exposed. She took a moment to look over herself, noting the faint blue hues of blueberry sauce that had seeped through her sweater and clung stubbornly to her skin. Speaking of skin, hers was quite pale now that she thought about it. It wasn’t nearly this pale when she had made her body.

She remembered specifically wanting to be more colored in.

“I guess nothing can go perfectly.” She shrugged and turned to the handle knob of the shower.

_Wait a minute_.

Which direction was she supposed to move the knob to? Left or right?

Baxter hadn’t told her about it. The labels on the metal, if single letters could be called that, did little to clear up the confusion. The left side had **H** and the right side had **C**.

What did they mean?

 “Something wrong, Marinette?” she heard Tikki say through the curtains.

“N-nothing!”

No, she would be fine. She just had to pick which way to go. Whatever choice she made would still (probably) make water fall from the shower head. _I’ll go right, then_. She grabbed hold of the knob and pulled it in such direction. A blast of water immediately descended upon her, and the bluenette felt every part of her body jerk up as what was probably the coldest damn water in all of Europe came crashing down upon her skin.

Cold.

Freezing.

Absolutely hypothermic.

She had never felt such a biting sensation in all of her existence. And, with no warning whatsoever as the icy water drenched her completely, she did the first thing that came to her mind.

Scream.

“What in the world is this?!?!”

Her voice pierced through the walls and knocked a dozing Baxter right off the couch. “M-Marinette?!” she heard him scream, followed by a heavy set of footsteps towards the bathroom door.

“W-why is the water so c-c-cold? Who sets these things? I’m going freeze! My skin will go frigid and chip off l-like that porcelain doll in N-n-norway!” she whined.

“Jeez, don’t scare me like that! I thought something horrible happened!” he chuckled weakly.

“Freezing to d-d-death is something to I think I can label as h-horrible!”

She saw Tikki’s silhouette fly over to the curtain. “Just turn the knob the other way to warm up, Marinette.” Her Kwami pointed out.

Shivering from the cold, she turned to the knob and grabbed hold. “O-okay,” she muttered weakly.

Baxter’s voice came out muffled from behind the door. “Woah, hold on, Biscuit! Make sure you don’t pull the handle all the way to the-”

She cranked the handle before he could finish, and all at once the cold became scalding.

“Eeeeeek!!!”

Her scream sliced through the silence of the night.

 

* * *

 

After another douse of that terribly cold shower to soothe her burns and a quick soap and rinse, Marinette stepped out of the shower as pale as a sheet, shivering like a puppy left out in the snow. She dressed into a night gown of pink and white, thankful that the sleeves were short and did not chafe her still tender skin too much. Baxter was waiting for her outside when she opened the door. She saw the look of concern on his face.

“Did you burn yourself? You all right, Biscuit?” He looked her over with a worried eye. “I hope this experience hasn’t traumatized you and makes you never want to take a bath ever again. ‘Cause that would be terrible..”

Was she burnt?

No.

Was she all right?

That was debatable.

But she was more or less fine. Shaken, but fine. “I’ll live.” She smiled at him weakly. “On the bright side, my skin’s all clean now, and even quite shiny.” She lifted her arm and showed him her arms, clean and free of any stains. When he gently poked her skin she withdrew with a jerk. It stung a little bit. She saw his face sink into a frown.

“First day as your guardian and I’ve already put you in hot water…” he groaned and placed a hand on his own forehead.

_Poor thing_.

“P-pun intended?” she offered with a cock of her brow.

Baxter let out a strangled chuckle and looked at her with a small smile. “You trying to make me feel better, Biscuit?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

He looked at her a moment, and then he nodded. “Yeah, yeah it is. Thanks.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to get his gaze. “We were both at fault here. I should have told Tikki the truth about me not knowing.”

“Marinette..” she heard Tikki say.

“But anyway, making mistakes is all part of being human, right? I’ll learn from this, you’ll learn from this, and we’ll do better next time.”

Baxter nodded.

“Too true, Biscuit. Come on, it’s time to get you to bed.”

She was escorted to her room, with Baxter by the ladder in case she fell (she didn’t, thankfully) and bid the man good night before closing the trap door.

Tikki hovered in front of her, looking just as worried as Baxter had.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Marinette?” her Kwami fretted.

The bluenette gingerly touched her skin, and felt the same stinging sensation. “I’ll be sore for a while, honestly.” she confessed. “But, I have to ask, why isn’t my skin red? In a situation like this, shouldn’t it be red and swollen?”

Her Kwami fidgeted nervously in place. “For normal humans, yes, Marinette, but you’re not entirely human…”

She looked at Tikki in surprise.

“Yet! You’re not entirely human yet. You may have the general form down, but a transformation as complex as yours takes some more time to complete.” the little god added quickly.

Marinette eyed her suspiciously. “My transformation isn’t finished?”

“It seems some parts of you still retain your doll-like properties. You can feel pain like a human, but your skin still reacts like porcelain. That hot and cold bath probably just gave you a painful polish.”

“How long will it take for my human form to stabilize?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll be fully human in no time!” Tikki tried to sound cheerful, but it was received unsuccessfully by the bluenette, whose eyes stared straight into her Kwami’s own.

“Is there any part of me that’s still…” she paused at the thought of the word. “..doll?”

The Kwami shrugged. “We can only find out for ourselves.”

Upon seeing the look of disappointment on her face, her Kwami hovered close to her and patted her cheek gently. “You’re human now, Marinette. There’s no doubt about that.” Her voice came out reassuring and confident this time. “We just need to let the rest of you realize that. Okay?”

Marinette nodded. “Okay.”

She was actually quite disheartened over the news. She thought she had finally rid herself of her doll body, and yet here it was, clinging to her human form and trying to keep her from being a real person. It was like some wretched sort of leech that refused to let go. Marinette glowered at her shining skin.

‘ _Can’t you just let me have this?_ ’ she thought hotly.

And like she expected, she heard a small, annoyingly familiar whisper reply.

‘ _You can’t have what shouldn’t be yours, Marinette_.’ the voice hissed.

The bluenette shook her head and headed for bed. As she threw the covers over herself, she felt a surge of determination course through her. She was going to learn to be human as fast as she could, and then she would be able to keep up with her new form. She believed that once that happened, the rest of her body would conform to her and finally finish the transformation, and make her a real living person.

Then, and only then, would she have the last laugh.

She wasn’t going to be a doll again.

Not ever.

 

* * *

 

“You want to do what now?!” Baxter’s shout pierced the early morning quiet.

“I want to go to school.” Marinette repeated, taking a bite out of her hot chocolate-dipped croissant.

Baxter dunked his own croissant in a mug of coffee, swirling it about agitatedly as he took in the request. She waited for him on bated breath, sure that he would see her point in the suggestion, and how much it would benefit her as a hu-

“Hell no.” he said suddenly, shaking his head at her before nibbling at his pastry.

Tikki, who was enjoying a _pain au chocolat_ let out a scolding, “Language, Baxter.”

Marinette was shocked. How could he say that? Wasn’t going to school something all humans did? If she was going to learn to be human, this would be the most efficient way. After all, school was practically filled with much-needed human-related trivia!

“Why not?” she groused.

“Because I said so!” he gobbled up the rest of the croissant and picked up another one from a plate.

“That is in no way a valid reason!”

Baxter looked at her with a frown. “Then how about this: You can’t walk properly, your grip is terrible, you lack knowledge on a lot of things humans the age of 6 already know about, and you bump and trip into things so many times that you’d make a blind man feel bad for you!” He raised a finger for each point he made.

“That last part was a little uncalled for.” Marinette blushed indignantly.

“It’s totally true though, Biscuit. I know you think school’s a big part of being human – which it is, don’t get me wrong – but you gotta lay down a good foundation before constructing a building.” He took a sip of his coffee. “If you go to school in the state you’re in now, you’re gonna embarrass yourself _and_ get hurt –emotionally and physically. As your guardian, I can’t let that happen.”

Tikki turned to Marinette and nodded. “He does make a fair point.”

_I know he does, but I have to learn as fast as possible._

“Come on, Baxter. You said you’d help me with this.” Marinette pressed on, but the man held fast in his decision.

“I _will_ help you, but right now that help doesn’t include letting you go to school.” He let out a tired sigh when he saw the scornful glare she was giving him. He pushed his plate aside and looked her straight in the eye. “You want to go to school?”

She nodded.

“Fine, you can.” He raised a finger before she could thank him.

“But only after a year of learning the basics with me.” he said with a finality that reminded her of Master Fu.

Her lips opened and closed like a fish, too taken aback by his terms to come with an immediate answer.

“Marinette, who’s been human longer, me or you?” he asked her.

“You..” she answered.

“Who knows how the human world works?”

“You..”

“And who is the girl that tripped on a flat, obstacle-free floor this morning?”

Marinette let out a small huff. “..Me.”

Baxter reclined into his seat. “That’s right. I like your moxie, kid, but it’s not gonna get you far enough to qualify for school without a little know-how and I _know how_ to give it to you.”

Marinette cursed Baxter inwardly, cursed him for his thorough thinking, cursed him for knowing more than her, and cursed him for caring about her too much to let her do things her way. A year was too long! Who knew what sort of relapse she’d experience until then? What if her transformation reversed and she’d be turned into a doll again?

A silly thought, considering Tikki that no such thing would happen, but she couldn’t help but worry.

She had to.

They didn’t know what it was like being an immobile piece of porcelain.

“B-but.” She tried to protest, but she crumpled at the last minute and gave in. At the end of the day, Baxter _did_ know more about the human world than she did.

“Fine…” she said.

Baxter nodded and gently patted her head. She wanted to slap that ridiculously patronizing hand away, but she held herself back. “I know you don’t like this, Biscuit, but trust me, it’ll be better this way.”

She looked over to her Kwami, vainly hoping that the little creature would try and defend her.

“It’s for the best Marinette.” Was what she got instead.

It was foolish of her to think anyone would agree with her brash declaration.

She frowned.

She should have expected such an outcome. She had let her worries get to her head, and now she was stuck in a position she couldn’t wiggle out of. All because she hadn’t thought it through.

She let out a resigned sigh and took a bite out of her croissant.

 

* * *

 

The first month of “Basic Training” focused mainly on walking, running, and any activity that had to do with her legs.

Baxter woke her up early in the morning and took her for a jog around the block a few times. The first few weeks out had been a bittersweet experience for the girl, for it was at that time that the first snows of winter came down, slowly covering Paris in its chilling embrace. Marinette was distracted by the pretty sight and found herself smacking into street lamp poles more often than not. Despite Baxter’s warnings, she would sometimes look up into the grey skies and open her mouth to catch the snowflakes. When they melted on her tongue, it sent a tiny shiver down her throat and she would giggle delightfully – and then crash into tree she hadn’t noticed.

When the bakery closed down for the day, Baxter took her to the park in front of the house and had her practice walking on dirt roads. The man would sit down on a bench with Tikki hidden safely in the pocket of his trench coat and nibbling on some packed cookies, and they’d both cheer for the girl to finish her laps.

“Lift those legs a little higher, Marinette! Else you’ll dig your foot into the dirt and trip. Again.”

She tried extra hard not to be distracted by the pretty snow around her as she made her way around. It worked most of the time, and though she still tripped and fell down, at least the snow cushioned the impact.

“Is that why you let her walk here, Baxter?” she had heard her Kwami ask the man.

“Absolutely.” Baxter replied.

_Well jokes on you_ , she thought rebelliously. Each time she fell down, she would wriggle about in the snow just to feel the gentle cold of the compact bunch of snowflakes. Sometimes, and only sometimes, she tripped on purpose just for that very reason.

Baxter probably noticed, but if he did, he didn’t bother to stop her.

As long as she actually finished the lap without too many falls, he let her be.

And for that she was grateful.

The routine went on like that for the rest of the snowy season. In the morning she walked down concrete and bricks; in the late afternoon she trudged through dirt and snow.

To build up her muscle strength more, he had her go up and down the staircases for a couple sets every two hours in between those walks. It was his own version of what he called “Step Aerobics” and said that it would give her legs the extra oomph they needed to keep her standing without getting tired so easily.

True enough, she found herself lasting longer on her feet without getting the strong urge to sit down.

It made it much easier for her to stand outdoors and attempt to catch as many snowflakes on her tongue as possible.

The days passed by quicker than anyone realized, and before they knew it, it was Christmas.

 

* * *

 

Marinette liked the idea of Christmas. She knew it was a time when families and friends gathered for a large feast, ending with everyone exchanging gifts with each other – a token of friendship and camaraderie. Christmas was a powerful holiday, that was for sure. She remembered how it halted the wars years ago, if only for a single night, and an unspoken peace was shared between otherwise enemy countries.

It was magical, if she had to find a word for it.

Her first Christmas as a human was also magical. For one, she was actually able to celebrate it. Secondly, she had a family to celebrate it with. She, Tikki, Baxter, and Master Fu all enjoyed steaming hot plates of holiday foods. Among the many plates, the main course was the chestnut-stuffed turkey. Its moist, golden skin glistened under the Christmas lights, and the succulent aroma of cooked fowl and sweet nuts mingled perfectly alongside the gingerbread cookies and the honey-glazed ham.

There was much cheerful talk and giddy chatter as the dishes were passed around.

When everyone had their fill and the night grew long, the time of gift exchanging took center stage. It was agreed that since Marinette was newest to the holiday, she would be the one to give her gifts first, and the bluenette was more than prepared.

“Here, Tikki! Merry Christmas!” Marinette pushed a small box over to her Kwami.

The little god took out the fluffy pink handkerchief inside and giggled. “Ooh! It’s so warm! This will make it much cozier when we go out!” Tikki snickered and wrapped the cloth around her little body.

Marinette turned to Master Fu and took out a rather long, slightly bulgy hand-made scarf of green, red and white, wrapped it around the old man’s neck, and smiled. “I had Baxter help me with the knitting part. I may have jabbed myself a few times, but the result turned out much better than we thought.”

The Chinese man looked at the small bandages on the girl’s hand. “I thought knitting needles were supposed to be dull,” he mused and turned a curious eye to Baxter.

“Not if they’re made of metal and in the hands of Biscuit,” the baker laughed.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at the man before walking up to where he sat in the couch. She took a somewhat large box from the coffee table and shoved it into the man’s hands. “Here.” she mumbled.

She saw his eyes widen when he took out a red hen matryoshka.

“Well, this is…cute.” Was all he could say.

Marinette laughed. “You have to open it, silly.”

He did just that, and his expression of surprise grew as the red hen revealed a smaller white egg matryoshka, and the white egg revealed an even smaller yellow chick matryoshka.

“They’re measuring cups. The tops and the bottoms count up to six different measurements.” Marinette pointed each measurement out with a finger, and looked up at the man. “Do you like it?”

She let out a squeak when Baxter grabbed her in for a tight, almost painful, bear hug. He stood up and swung her around a bit, and since he stood an impressive ‘6”4 to her small ‘5”6, it was like she was spinning in the air. When he put her down, she felt slightly nauseous – not that the grinning man seemed to notice.

“Aw man! These are awesome! Now I can measure flour in style!” he grinned. “So long boring stainless steel cups, make way for my feathered measuring friends!”

He turned to her. “Okay, okay. I’m next! Here’s my gift.” She handed her a neatly wrapped box.

She carefully pulled off the strips of tape from the gift wrap, trying her best not to rip the paper, for it would be such a waste if it was torn and it could be reused for another purpose. It made opening the gift a little more tedious and lengthy (much to Baxter’s impatient chagrin) but Marinette eventually had the whole thing taken off and proceeded to removing the box lid.

What she saw left her befuddled.

Inside the box was another box, and this one had a piece of paper stuck on it that read “For Hand-Eye Coordination”.  She opened this box as well and saw four things inside, each of which she placed in front of her. The first item was a red pouch case covered in black dots. From its heaviness, she guessed something was inside it. The second item was a black wire that looked to be a charger of sorts. For what, it was uncertain, but perhaps it was for whatever was inside.

The third item was a translucent white plastic case. On its surface were nine fox-like face prints with the face in the center being larger, and with a body and poofy tail. There was also text on this case. She read it out loud. “‘Eievui Party’?” she said haltingly. What in the world was an Eivui Party? She opened the case and found five tiny cartridge-like items kept inside. Each cartridge had a title printed on it.

One of the titles was “Fire Emblem Fates: Birthright”.

She set the case aside and took out the last item, this one being the only thing she recognized. They were headphones, and pink ones at that, still following a polka dot theme with white circles decorated along the pink body. She put them on and smiled. It was a perfect fit, and it felt so soft on her ears.

“Wow, this is quite a lot for one present, Baxter. But I don’t understand how this is going to help me..” She did not hide her surprise from him.

He merely waved at the red pouch. “Just see what’s inside.”

So she did, and from that pouch was an odd gadget of some sort. It was slightly heavy and cold in her hands, and, like her headphones, was a pearl pink color. She noted the two lenses that were on the gadget’s face, inspected it further, and found it could actually opened. She saw two large screens stare back at her when she opened the gadget, and saw some buttons scattered about on the lower part.

“What’s this?” she finally said.

Baxter beamed at her. “That, my friend, is a 3DS XL, and the new version, too! It’s a portable gaming console that will provide you a fun way of improving your reaction time and hand-eye skills.”

The man bent over and carefully took the gadget from her hands. He pointed at a cartridge that was wedged inside near the bottom. “I bought a few other games that you’ll find in that Eevee case over there, but this game will be what you’ll play if you want to improve your skills. Here, I’ll show you how to turn it on.” He pressed a button not far from the cartridge holder and grinned amusedly when Marinette flinched at the screens turning on.

“I think I’ve heard of these…portable game players. Yes, I think I know the gist of how to use it..” Marinette muttered.

As the opening menu flashed into view, she made her trembling thumb move the d-pad here and then, scanning the different tiles that were on the screen. The first title was probably the game cartridge inserted into the console. “Hatsune Miku: Project Diva DX.” she said.

Baxter nodded. “It’s a kind of musical rhythm game. It’s pretty popular and I thought you’d probably appreciate it. Though this won’t be your main way of learning how to control your hands and arms, it’ll certainly be a fun bonus. Besides, gadgets like these are very popular with kids today.”

Master Fu looked at the 3DS with a brow raised. “Don’t you have a blue one of those?”

Baxter grinned. “Maybe.”

“I thought you said it was for kids.” Tikki teased.

“I’m a kid at heart. Besides, I’m only 23. That’s not really old when you think about it.” the baker sniffed proudly.

Marinette clicked on the title and watched as the game booted up, and began playing an up-beat, cheerful tune. A girl appeared on the screen, sporting two huge pigtails that nearly reached the floor, and danced along to the beat. The bluenette found her head bobbing to the beat. “Catchy.” she admitted. She closed the console shut and turned back to Baxter. “This must have cost you a lot of cash. I remember seeing these things going for €190 or higher, and the games are usually €27 or so!”

The man smiled at her. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about the price. I got a pretty good deal on these since I know the right people.”

“Should I be worried about that?”

“Relax, it’s nothing illegal or anything. I just know how to get things” he assured her.

She bent over and gave him a firm hug. “I love it.” she said softly. “ _Merci pour ces cadeaux_.”

He gave her a small squeeze in return. “Hey, you’re kind of like my little sister now, Biscuit, and I’ve _always_ wanted a little sister to spoil.” They both shared a warm laugh, and broke apart only so that Baxter could give the rest of his gifts.

For Master Fu, the man gave a new tea set. It was light green in color and had an emerald turtle painted on the body of the pot and each teacup.

Tikki’s gift came in the form of a toy plush bed for the Kwami to sleep in.

“My turn!” the little god giggled.

Her gifts were customized cards the Kwami had made herself, each holding a polyester clay keychain inside its folds. Marinette and Master Fu’s keychain depicted their favourite sweets: Strawberry Shortcake and Croissant respectively. Baxter’s keychain wasn’t a dessert but instead a chef’s hat with a wooden rolling pin.

“I’ll hang this on my phone!” Baxter grinned.

“This will go wonderfully with my keys.” Master Fu nodded.

“I’m going to tie this to my 3DS! Thanks, Tikki!” Marinette quickly looped the string around the designated part of the console and admired the little slice of pink cake fondly.

Now it was Master Fu’s turn.

Marinette watched the little man pick up three boxes from the table. They were identical in size and wrapping style, but differed in color. The green box was for Baxter, the blue one for Tikki, and the red one, suitably enough, was for Marinette.

“I hope you like them.” The old man smiled kindly at them and took a seat on one of the chairs.

Tikki opened her box first and took out a bottle, about the size of the Kwami’s entire body, and was filled with what looked to be candy stars. The sweets glittered softly from their glass container, kept fresh and safe with the cork lid on top.

The red Kwami dipped her head to the old man. “Thank you, Master Fu!”

“They weren’t easy to make, but it will help you should you ever feel under the weather,” he said.

When it was Marinette’s turn, she found a small lantern inside her box. It was no bigger than her head and felt light in her hands. She recognized the fine silk that interwove between the fine wooden frames, all of which had been gracefully carved and given a light varnish. The wood itself was a deep mahogany color. She marvelled at the craftsmanship in the intricate wood carving, how it had thin tendrils spread across the corners of the red silk cloth, and spiralled outwards to the corners to form painstakingly detailed phoenix heads, all of which held red tassels in their mouths.

As amazing as that was, it was the figures painted on the cloth that captured her attention.

While four of the faces had a simple print of golden bamboo stocks and white butterflies, two of the faces, side by side, had an animal peeking through the bamboo. The first was that of black cat, whose face wore an expression of mischief and playfulness. The second figure depicted a black dog whose stare seemed to pierce through like the sharpest blade. Both figures stared straight forward, giving the illusion that they were actually looking at her.

“Did you make this one, too?” Marinette looked at Master Fu with wide eyes.

The old man smiled at her. “I had the frame with me for many years, but the silk and prints are newly made.” he explained. “In my homeland, lanterns were used to not only to shed light in the darkness, but also to ward off evil spirits. I want you to hang this in your room, preferably near your bed. And don’t worry about the light. I placed a special stone which will glow by itself when it gets dark.”

The bluenette looked over the lantern’s top and found a round stone inside. It looked quite ordinary, she thought, but she decided it would be best to find out if it worked later on before passing judgement. “Thank you. It’s lovely,” she finally said.

Baxter’s box contained only a necklace, but my how it shone. Marinette recognized the stone pendant to be Jade, and that particular one was quite marvellously carved into a perfect circle with a hole in the middle. It dangled on a thick leather cord which was knotted by a small jade bead. It was the simplest looking among Master Fu’s gifts, but Marinette felt an aura, strong and sturdy, emanate from the simple stone.

She saw the features on Baxter’s face shift slowly, with the wide grin softening into a small, sincere smile. There was something sad that seemed to mingle with the happiness in the man’s eyes. She couldn’t decipher why it was there. Was it nostalgia of some sort? Did it bring up precious memories? The bluenette bit her tongue back. It would be rude to pry. It was not right. She watched him handle the necklace delicately with his hands, saw his fingers run over the polished surface.

Master Fu’s eyes glowed with a similar light. He sat straighter in his chair when the younger man put the necklace on. “For you, my old friend, I give you this pendant to guard and bless you as you go through this new chapter in life.” He gave his goatee a quick scratch. “I know you are aware of the trials and difficulties being a guardian is, but you accepted it with a willing and light heart, and so I gift this necklace to you until you need its protection no longer.”

Baxter gripped the pendant tightly in his hand, and bowed deeply before the Chinese healer. “Thank you, Master Fu. I won’t disappoint you,” the man said solemnly.

“I know you won’t, Baxter.” Master Fu nodded.

The baker turned to her then, and immediately his grin returned. “I think this might be the best Christmas yet, eh, Biscuit?”

She beamed at him, and pushing her questions and doubts aside, she sat back and took in all the warmth the man’s grin gave her. She nodded quietly, gripping her very first gifts close to her chest, and replied,

“Absolutely!”

Their celebrating continued long into the night, passing the time with retellings of funny stories in their lives, and drinking hot chocolate as they wrapped themselves in cozy blankets. The snowfall from the window provided a very whimsical atmosphere, and prompted them to continue their little party, and so they did all the way till dawn, by which time they all laid strewn across the sofa and chairs. They slept soundly then, and it seemed that the world outside did the same, for the snow grew fainter, and the winds blew softer. Deep in her dreams, Marinette imagined herself still dining with Baxter, Master Fu, and Tikki.

Except this time, there were more guests who shared in the festivities.

Georg and Victoria sat side by side and fed each other spoonfuls of pudding. Bernard and Tom chatted together with their wives about how well the bakery was doing, complimenting a bashful Baxter over his good care for the old place. Her other owners were there as well, and though their features weren’t as clear as the others, their presence made the bluenette feel an immense joy grow inside of her.

That joy manifested into a smile on her sleeping face, and she tugged her blankets closer to her, hoping that the party would never have to end.

 

* * *

 

New Year’s Eve came and went as fast and loud as the fireworks that exploded in the sky.

Marinette had to wear her headphones to muffle the noise, but she stood fearlessly on the rooftop with Baxter and Tikki and watched the wonderful show. The huge bursts of colored lights across the midnight sky sent her heart racing with exhilaration, and her head swerved to and fro, so as to catch each one as they painted the skies above.

She was terribly tired the next day, but it was well worth the sleepiness.

With the arrival of January came the next step of her training. By then she had gotten walking down (now she only tripped when there was actually something to trip on) and she had gotten the hang of using her hands. Her penmanship left much to be desired though, leading Baxter to call January “Writing Month”.

He started her off writing in simple script, having her practice with the letters and their capital forms. Marinette found that Baxter’s attention for detail would prove her undoing during this time, for he would point out the flaws in her letters and tell her to start again.

It was quite an agitating first week.

Baxter was a strict teacher, but he was not without compassion. When she was stuck on a letter, he came to her side and showed her how to do it. He was encouraging when she did it right, and even when she did wrong.

By week three, she was off to writing cursive.

“What is the point of writing in cursive?” she asked him while she attempted to write a sentence in the script.

“It improves reading and spelling ability. When printing, some people write so erratically that it is difficult to determine where one word ends and another begins.” he said. He took out an extra sheet of paper and sat down beside her. He began to write out a sentence in the curly font. “Cursive, on the other hand, requires you to write from left to right so that the letters will join in proper sequence; therefore, it is easier to read. It also aids with spelling through the connectivity of the letters. This helps you to see words as a whole instead of seeing separate letters.” He ended the sentence with a jab of a period and showed it to her.

Marinette did not expect his cursive to look so elegant.

It made her handwriting look like hen scratches.

“And it’s also really pretty to look at.” He gave her a pat on the head and left to get some cookies from the oven.

_For the sake of my dignity, I shall learn this longhand writing!_

It was going to be so pretty that it’d make Baxter cry tears of joy.

Well, something like that anyway.

 

* * *

 

She made use of her newly acquire cursive writing skill when Valentine’s Day drew nigh. With only a week before the popular holiday came, Baxter was up to his neck baking Valentine-related sweets and treats. The most popular item in the bakery was his heart shaped, pink iced butter cookies. They were bought by the dozens by his customers. Even with his five part-timers to help him out, it was quite difficult to have everything finished in time. He got by, but just barely.

Marinette volunteered to man the cash register while he waged war on stubborn dough balls that would not roll out evenly. She entertained the customers as best as she could. She remembered how Tom handled his customers, and used it as basis for her etiquette towards them.

She would greet them with a bright, but sincere smile.

If allowed, she recommended a certain pastry to them if they were indecisive.

No matter how demanding (others were downright irritating) the customer got, she would remain unaffected and treat them properly.

She nearly broke that last rule on several occasions, each of those times involving an impatient teenager.

Who knew French teens could be so rude?

“ _Madmoiselle_ , do you think you could write a little something on my cake?” An elderly man came up to the counter with a boxed strawberry shortcake.

Knowing that Baxter was still busy with other orders, she nodded and took out an icing pen. She silently hoped she wouldn’t mess up and ruin the bakery’s reputation.

“What do you want it to say, Monsieur?” she looked at the gentleman.

“How about ‘For my loving wife whom I adore entirely’?”

_Aw, how sweet_.

She took the pen and carefully wrote out the words, mentally telling herself not to start shaking, and to just relax and let the filling flow out naturally. She punctuated the I’s in the sentence with little hearts, and drew a small rose in the corner. “Is this okay, Monsieur?”

The old man let out a chortle. “Okay? This is perfect! Thank you so much, Madmoiselle. Here, a tip.”

He placed a couple bills on the counter and left before she could say anything. “T-thank you?” she stuttered.

As luck would have it, the young woman next in line had seen her handwriting and requested her cupcakes to have little words written on them. “It can be anything you like, dear! Make it sweet, make it sappy!” the woman smiled and pushed the box of treats towards her.

_The customer is always right_ , she reminded herself.

She thought of the most romantic lines she could think of. She remembered Lucille, who many times quoted romantic lines from novels she had read in front of her case, and used those on the cupcakes.

The result came in a large tip and a delighted thanks from the customer, who left with a spring in her step.

“Say, could you do that for my cake? I’ll pay extra!”

“Do you draw flowers? I’d like some on my éclairs?”

“Could you put ‘I love you’ on my cookies?”

More and more customers asked for her personalized touch, and being the good helper she was, she obliged and customized almost a hundred more orders.

On Valentine’s evening, when the bakery had closed shop, Baxter surprised her with a strawberry tart with the words “Congratulations!” iced on it.

“Thanks for doing those customizations. We earned a lot more money this year thanks to you,” he said, and offered the treat to her. “Not only that, your cursive writing’s really gotten pretty. I think the practice with all those pastries helped a bunch, huh?”

“Oh, definitely. I do think I’ve tired out both my hands.” She tried to shake the numbness from her poor appendages.

The man chuckled and lifted the tart to her mouth. “Big brother to the rescue. Go on, take a bite.”

She laughed at his gesture but did what was asked.

“Well?”

She licked the stray crumb from her mouth and beamed at him. “It’s super delicious!”

 

* * *

 

Training went along as the months past; Marinette stayed faithful to her schedule and worked on her writing. Baxter eventually added a bit of math to her learning, skipping basic arithmetic since the girl already had knowledge of that.

When spring turned to summer, and the leaves turned a rich emerald hue, Marinette spent most of her days either studying algebra in the living room or helping Baxter out in the kitchens. In between those two she found time to play games on her 3DS, and when it was late afternoon, she took a walk with Tikki through the park.

She liked being able to go outside, as it provided a refreshing change of scene from the four walls of the bakery. If she could, Marinette would have walked around the park till night settled on Paris, but her stamina wasn’t good enough to last that long, and so she’d be forced to sit on the benches and admire the city from there.

Baxter only ever came to get her if she stayed past sunset.

She didn’t really mind.

Sometimes she exhausted herself so much from walking that she needed to lean on him as they walked back home.

Marinette spoke to Tikki a lot after dinner, when the two of them were nestled between the sheets of their beds. The Kwami would comment on her progress during those times, giving her tips on how she could improve, and that she was doing a good job in general.

“It won’t be long now before your body will be fully adapted to moving and running around.” Tikki giggled.

“No kidding. I know I’m getting better at this, but I just hope I’ll be ready when I need to use my powers. After all, who wants a superhero that trips and falls and makes an even bigger mess?” Marinette worried.

The red Kwami smiled at her. “When you transform, your powers will give you an extra boost of physical prowess, Marinette.”

“It won’t stop me from being a clutz though..”

“You’ve got luck on your side, Marinette! Just believe you can do it, and your powers will help you out.”

It was during those talks that she was reminded of her part of the deal. She sometimes forgot because she was so wrapped up in her learning, but one day, probably sooner than she thought, she would need to don the pelt of Ladybug and save people from evil forces. She would be responsible for the safety of countless lives. They would depend on her, need her power.

The responsibility was intimidating.

To say she wasn’t the least bit nervous would be a terrible lie.

On one hand she was glad to be of help, but on the other hand she knew that the task was dauntingly large.

She knew that a part of her, perhaps the doll part of her (why did she still have that?), believed it was far too much to do for a single person. And though she hated to admit it, Marinette had to agree with her thoughts. With such a vague and far-reaching range of responsibility, there was just so many opportunities she had to mess up.

She might fail.

She might get hurt, maybe even killed.

What if she got someone else killed because of her inadequacy?

She didn’t like these heavy, negative thoughts, but they stayed with her, and they gnawed her consciousness when she was distracted. She spoke to Tikki about her worries some nights later, and confessed that she feared she would let her and Master Fu down. The Kwami merely kissed her forehead and gave her cheek a hug.

“I know it’s kind of scary, Marinette, but don’t worry. You won’t be alone in this.” The red Kwami cooed softly.

“I know I have you to help me, but I-” Tikki cut her mid-sentence, shocking her with what she said next. Her Kwami’s deep blue eyes captured her own in a soothing, relaxing stare.

“You won’t be the only one fighting the evil, Marinette. You will have a partner to fight by your side.”

This was the first time she had heard of this.

“A partner? You mean a Miraculous holder?” she pressed.

Tikki nodded. “Because you have the Ladybug Miraculous, it is only natural that the Cat Miraculous will have a holder, too. Those two always go together.”

_The Cat Miraculous. That person will be my partner_.

She propped her head on her pillow, musing at that thought. “Will I know who they’ll be?” She felt a wave of disappointment when her Kwami shook her head.

“Probably not. Miraculous holders don’t usually know each other’s identities. They might find out eventually, but revealing one’s identities is no small matter.” Tikki floated back to her little bed and sat on the edge. “You shouldn’t tell just anyone who you are underneath the hero façade. There are dangers in revealing your identity, not only for yourself but also for the people you care about. You can trust your partner though. Trust in them and put your faith in them, have their back. But think carefully before you think of revealing yourself to them.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Do you understand, Marinette?”

The bluenette nodded. “Completely.”

After that talk, the heavy weight in her stomach lessened a great amount. It was still there, along with the new worries of partners and identities, but it didn’t distract her so much as before. Marinette still thought about it when there was nothing to do, but she thought calmly now, and ignored the frets of her inner thoughts.

This was part of her deal.

She wanted to be human, and human she was. In exchange she had to be the world’s protector. She would use her new body, moving and free and oh so alive, to keep the lives of others in tact. Marinette would not be alone either, that she knew as well. She would have a partner to fight the evils together. With this partner, she would be able to accomplish more than she ever could alone.

_I’ll do my best to be a worthy partner_.

This was what she decided one autumn day. And as she scribbled on a piece of paper, her pen sketching a pretty dress design, she felt anticipation swell in her heart. Soon the year would end, and then she’d go to school. Soon she’d use her powers, and then she would become a hero.

Soon she would meet her partner, and they would share many adventures and battles together.

The thought made the bluenette giggle and she continued drawing. She sketched out a little version of herself on the paper, standing proudly with a confidant smile. Then she drew her partner, who matched her in a powerful stance. Their face was blank, save for a question mark she drew on. “My partner in crime.” she mused absently.

“Who will you be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it was, dear reader, the newest chapter! What did you think? What's your opinion of Baxter? DO you think he's a suitable guardian for our dear protagonist? Oh, but trivial questions I think we all know what the really important question is for this chapter:
> 
> Why is the fridge blue?
> 
> Haha, I jest. Seriously though, I could never understand why the fridge in Marinette's home was so different in color. It would be such a waste if I didn't mention it! Still, I hope you liked the chapter, and I sincerely look forward to hearing (it's more of reading though, isn't it?) you thoughts in the Comments!
> 
> Until next chapter, Sweetie!


	5. Flight of the Black Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, I'm sad to say this will be the last chapter I post so quickly after the previous one. It seems I've caught up with all the chapters that I've posted on FFN. 
> 
> Don't fret though! After a long hiatus, I've finally decided to post the sixth chapter. Well, not now or next week. Probably two weeks from now - depending on my class requirements. 
> 
> Rest assured that chapter six is done. I've just refrained from posting it because, whenever I read it over, I always felt it could use something....more.
> 
> Bah, I blabber too much. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, Sweetie!

Today was the day.

No doubt about it.

In just five minutes, the bells of _Collège_ Françoise Dupont would ring, signalling the start of class, and the beginning of a new school year. Students all rushed inside the walls of the institution, eager to learn new things, to see who their classmates would be, and to make great memories of their first day – or to avoid being late, which was a definite possibility.

For Adrien Agreste, he ran for all those reasons and more. “Yes, it’s right there!” he grinned, rounding a corner and spotting the prominent butter colored walls of the _collège_. It was so much bigger than he remembered, and even from across the street he could already hear the chatter and laughter of the students inside. He’d soon join in that merry symphony of social song. “If I hurry, I’ll just make it before the final bell!” His blond hair swept back and clung to his head as he made a dash. He practically flew over the zebra crossing in a large leap, startling the pedestrians that he passed by as he closed the distance between him and the school.

He was soon at the bottom of the stairs. Just a few more steps and he’d be inside the building, be Adrien Agreste the student. The sound of tires screeching made him halt in his run, and turning round towards the road, he saw the flash of a silver car.

 _His_ car.

His light green eyes narrowed upon recognition. _Oh_ no, _I was so close,_ he groaned inwardly.

The car door opened to reveal a scowling woman inside who was none other than Nathalie Sancoeur, his father’s assistant and his caretaker of sorts - if “care” meant making sure he was locked up at home. The woman got out and stalked towards him, her mouth sporting its ever-present frown, and her hands clutching her clipboard of schedules and memos. Backing her up was Gorilla, a giant of a man who was his chauffer and bodyguard, as wordless and strong as his namesake. The man seemed just as upset as the female assistant, although it was hard to tell, especially given that a frown was Gorilla’s default face.

“Adrien, please don’t do this.” Nathalie’s voice came out as coldly as her gaze on him. “You know this isn’t what your father wants.”

He looked at her with defiance. “But this is what _I_ want! Just a day, Nathalie! Let me be a student just for today!”

His argument fell on deaf ears. She nodded at Gorilla. “Escort Adrien into the car.”

“But-”

“Adrien.” Her voice snapped at him.

The blond let out a defeated sigh. _Rats! I was so close_. The school was right there, _right there_ in front of him. Oh, how it chewed his insides to know how close he had gotten to getting inside that building and assuming the role of a regular student – which he had never been in all his life. He had always been home-schooled.

“Yes, Nathalie,” Adrien said dejectedly. He followed her into the car, looking back at the _collège_ one last time before he was pushed inside, the door closing behind him with a muted slam. He leaned into the leather seat and looked out, past the tinted windows of his silver car, and back at the school building he was supposed be in, attending classes and making friends.

 _It was a foolish plan to begin with_ , he thought bitterly.

 What did he think he was going to accomplish by running away to school? Was he hoping that his father would see how happy he was there? That his stone-faced parent who never had time for him anyway would realize how much better being in school was? That keeping his son inside all the time was probably a stupid thing to do?

Yes, naïve as that might have been, Adrien _had_ hoped all those things would happen.

But now he’d never know, for his plan had been thwarted, and he was on his way back to his mansion. He had no doubt that security would become stricter after this escapade. And what about his father? The blond shivered at the thought of the scolding he’d get.

He turned to Nathalie, meekly tapping her shoulder as he said, “Please don’t tell my father about this. I just wanted to go to middle school, like everybody else…”

Her silence made him feel more uneasy.

His hands clenched into tight fists and he looked away from her. He had no allies in this car, just as he had none waiting for him at home. All he wanted was to be a normal teen who went to school. Was that so much to ask for? If he had that, he would at least have an inkling of understanding towards how regular people his age lived like. As far as Adrien knew, he was living a life that was anything but normal.

Normal teens didn’t have a world-famous fashion designer for a father.

Normal teens didn’t have to be a model for said father’s top-class company.

Normal teens had a life outside home, with at least a couple of friends to be with.

Adrien didn’t have so much as a familiar acquaintance. _Although, there is Chloe_. But that person hardly counted. The girl was Mayor Bourgeois’ daughter, and though he played with her a couple times when they were kids, they had never really formed a friendship – at least not to him they didn’t.

All he had was a large, cold mansion filled with expensive items, all of which were superficial and held no warm sentiment in his heart. They were just there to remind him and outsiders of his wealthy status that furthered his social isolation. All the people who shared such a flush lifestyle were either too old for him to mingle with or those who were his age were often too obsessed with themselves, which made it hard for him to befriend any of them.

It was quite a futile attempt on his part.

There had been a few times when he met someone genuinely interested in his friendship, but those people would leave, like all the rest, and soon they forgot about him.

“We’re here.” Nathalie’s voice brought him out of his dreary thinking, dragging him to face the reality he lived in, which was just as gloomy. He looked out the window and saw the black bars that made up the large gate of his mansion. The stone wall that hid the house behind it really made it seem like a prison – which it was in some ways. While he waited for gates to open, his eyes happened upon an old man walking down the road, clambering on at a slow, turtle-like pace with a wooden cane in hand. Adrien recognized the Chinese features of the senior, but he was confused with the man’s choice of clothing.

He had never seen someone wear a Hawaiian shirt (and a bright red one at that!) in real life. And in weather like this? Though it was still morning, the air had been chillier, which was common during fall season. Such a thin looking piece of fabric certainly wouldn’t keep anyone warm. What if the poor man caught a cold?

As if that didn’t worry Adrien enough, it was at that moment that the senior tripped and fell to the ground.

He was out of the car before Nathalie could stop him. He crossed the road, careful not to get hit by any incoming cars, and kneeled beside the old man. “Here, let me help.” He picked up the cane, which had rolled a few feet away, and aided the man in getting up. In return, the old man smiled at him.

“Ah, thank you, boy!” the senior coughed. “My legs aren’t what they used to be.”

“It’s no problem, sir.” Adrien smiled at him warmly.

He waved a small goodbye as the old man went his way, and quickly returned to the car. Nathalie regarded him with a frown, but otherwise said nothing.

A short drive-in later, Adrien was back inside his large house, guided by Nathalie into the dining area, where he would be “properly educated” as his father once called it, and learn all that he needed to know. All his things were set on the table, his textbooks, his binder, and his pens. “We shall start with History today, Adrien.” Nathalie said.

He didn’t even bother to reply.

“First, a review. Who was the first president of the Fifth Republic?”

Adrien answered in a tone that barely hid his irritation. “Everyone thinks it’s de Gaulle but in reality, it was Rène Coty before the first election.”

“Excellent, Adrien. When was the Fifth Republic introduced?”

“October 4, 1958.”

“Who was the first prime minister of the republic?” Nathalie raised a brow at him.

He met her gaze evenly. “Michel Debré.”

“Very good. Today I’ll be talking about the major events that happened during de Gaulle’s term. The first thing to take note of during his time was….” He listened to her drone on about the political actions of de Gaulle, with little interest and limited patience. He absently wrote down what she said though; his old habit dictated him to do so. _This day couldn’t possibly get any worse._

“Adrien.” The voice of his father echoed through the dining room.

_Of all the rotten-_

“I thought I told you not to go to that middle school. You have no use for it.” As always, Gabriel’s voice was as warm as an ice cube. Adrien snuck an accusing look at Nathalie. Of course she’d tattle on him. Of. Course. She. Would. He felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

Gabriel shook his head at him. “You have everything you need in this house, Adrien. You have no reason to go.”

“But, father-” Adrien said.

“I forbid you to go outside without my permission, is that understood?”

“But-” Gabriel cut him off with wave of his hand.

“The outside world is dangerous. You are better off here, where you will be safe.”

Adrien stood up from his seat and looked at his father imploringly. “Why do you want to shut me off from the outside?” he asked, “I’m always alone here. I don’t even have any friends! How am I better off like this?”

Gabriel’s frown only deepened. “You are my son, Adrien. I know what is best for you, and what is best for you now is to stay at home.”

The man turned sharply around and motioned to Nathalie with a wave of his hand. “Resume the lesson.” Gabriel ordered, and with that he left.

Adrien slowly sat back in his seat, heart heavier, and overall mood totally depressing. He hadn’t seen his father in days, and _this_ was all the man had to say to him? No “Hi, son, how’re you doing?” or “I missed you.”? He scoffed. His father would never do that. He never did that anymore.

His lessons carried on for two more hours before Nathalie dismissed him, and he all but gladly retreated into his bedroom. He jumped face-first into the silky sheets of his king-sized bed, and wrapped his body with the blankets into a tight cocoon. His brows knit tightly together as he scowled, frustrated with his situation, and just generally frustrated with his life. He lifted his head up. “I still have that photo shoot this afternoon, too…” he let out a small grumble before covering his face with the rest of the sheet.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean I can’t go to school today?!” Marinette cried in protest from her seat on the couch.

Baxter, who was in the middle of frying an egg sunny-side up, turned to her. “I’m having a few difficulties with your enrolment,” he said, “You passed the entrance exam just fine, but I still have to submit your documents to the school before you’re officially a student at Françoise Dupont.” He refocused on the egg before him and gave the pan a jerk, making it flip to another side.

Marinette rested her arms on the couch backrest. “What kind of documents?”

“The standard stuff: birth certificate, identity card of your legal guardian, medical certificate, vaccination certificate, proof of residence… You know, all the stuff you _don’t_ have…” Baxter counted.

“You said you had those handled months ago.” She raised a brow at the man.

Baxter let out a short chuckle. “Most of ‘em, yes, and it was not easy to do. You’re lucky I know the right people, Biscuit. Unfortunately, a friend of mine called and told me I had to settle a few inconsistencies with your birth certificate, so I can’t submit those documents until later today.”

Marinette let out a small groan and sunk into the cushions of the couch.

“Come on, kid. I’m doing the best I can.” Baxter scooped up the egg and laid it gently on a waiting plate. He switched off the stove and sat down by the table. “You can wait one more day, can’t you? At least you don’t have to do boring paperwork like me,” the baker sighed.

“I know, and I _am_ grateful, Baxter. But… I can’t help but feel disappointed.” Marinette said softly.

The bluenette hugged one of throw pillows tightly to her chest. “You know how much I’ve waited for this day to come.” She stared at the pink bag in front of her, one that held all the things she’d need for her first day of school, and one she would not be using today.

Baxter took a bite of his egg. “Life’s full of surprises, Biscuit, and not all of them good. Too bad we couldn’t just let you waltz in and magically become a student like the cartoons on TV, huh?” he said.

Marinette let out a snort. “If only.”

Tikki popped out from the pocket of the bag and settled herself on the coffee table. “Why don’t you help Baxter around the bakery, Marinette? That’ll take your mind off things,” the Kwami suggested.

The girl thought about it, realizing that moping would really do her no good, and decided it’d be for the best if she helped. At least she’d be doing something. She nodded, getting up with a sleepy yawn (her excitement had kept her up late into the previous night), and walked over to her ‘legal guardian’. “Do you have anything you need help with?” she titled her head.

“Well, since I’ll be going to city hall to take care of your birth certificate, I won’t be able to man the bakery. My part-timers can handle the kitchen, so you can do the deliveries.” he said.

Marinette grinned. “You mean, I get to go around Paris giving people their pastries? All by myself?”

Baxter eyed her warily, but otherwise grinned back. “Yeah, all by yourself. It’s about time I let you do things without a chaperone.”

She leaned forward to give the man a quick hug, her eyes brimming with eagerness at the prospect at a solo venture outside. The disappointment she felt was crushed by giddy excitement that seemed to bounce about her being. “Thanks, Baxter! I’ll go downstairs and start right away!” she let out a small giggle and ran out the room, grabbing her small purse off the coffee table and swinging the strap over her shoulder. Her Kwami quickly hid inside the bag.

“If you get lost, just dial Elliot’s number so he’ll pick you up!” she heard Baxter call after her.

She flashed her phone at him and replied a quick, “Got it!” before swinging the door shut behind her.

She slid down the banisters of the stairs with a leap, much to her Kwami’s amusement.

“You’re going to fall off one of these days.” Tikki giggled from inside the purse.

Marinette just smiled and slid down the last set of stairs. “Not today, Tikki!”

Delivering bakery goods to customers was an ample consolation for missing a day in school that she could live with. In the very least she got to explore the city more and remember its topography. She had seldom gone more than ten blocks away from the bakery since she first became human, and so her knowledge on the layout of Paris heavily relied on the maps provided by Google – which worked fine for her due to her doll way of remembering - but pictures of places could never compare to actually going to them, with one’s own two feet to lead them there, and one’s own eyes to see them.

This was why she liked going out.

And she’d take any opportunity to do just that.

Marinette skipped into the kitchen, noting that all the part-timers were already busy making the first batch of pastries. They had all probably arrived not too long after sunrise – a time wherein the bluenette would still be deep in her dreams. She weaved her way past several of the bakers that scurried from counter to counter, careful not to collide into them and spill the batter and trays they carried about.

“Elliot!” she called over to a tall blond who was busy rolling out some dough.

His baby blue eyes caught her gaze and he waved her over with a friendly, “Hey, Marinette! Thought you were going to school today?”

She stopped before his counter and shook her head. “Baxter needs to sort out my documents one last time.” the bluenette sighed. She watched the man grab some cookie cutters and press them firmly, alternating between two shapes in a quick rhythm. Elliot Gardner, Baxter’s senior part-time baker and full-time friend held the bakery record for most cookies cut from a single piece of dough. No one knew exactly how the American managed to make such an impossible amount, some claiming he might be a baking fairy or something (Elliot found the idea hilarious), but no one could deny that he helped keep up with the cookie demand.

He was also in charge of looking after Marinette whenever Baxter needed to handle things outside the bakery, earning him the title of “Big Brother #2” from the older baker. Marinette didn’t mind. Elliot was a nice guy to be around. Sometimes, he let her help him cut out some cookies – although she knew he’d never need any real help with _that_. He was also quite the mature individual despite sporting a man bun and flaunting four piercings on both ears – one of which housed a white daisy earring.

“Ah, too bad. The crew and I even baked you some snacks to share with your classmates, too.” he pointed to a box beside him.

Marinette went to it and saw that its interior was stuffed with the bakery’s most popular sweets: chocolate èclairs, macarons, chocolate chip fudge squares, chocolate croissants, and strawberry cream puffs. They were all still warm and fresh, and their sweet scents nearly made her drool. She quickly shut the lid. “I could always share it with people I pass by while I deliver some of the orders,” she smiled, appreciative of their kind gesture. “You know, advertise the bakery.”

 He looked at her in surprise. “Baxter’s finally giving you some elbow room?”

She nodded. “I think he’s trying to cheer me up. I really wanted to go to school.”

Elliot placed his cuttings into a tray and gave it to a passing baker. “That’s the kind of attitude good students have. You’re already on the right track.”

Marinette beamed at him. “You’ve got the list of orders?” she grinned.

He went over to a bulletin board and took down a sheet of paper. He handed it to her, pointing at each of the five names on the list. “Mrs. Schneider’s ordered another cake from us, and needs it before noon. The other orders can be delivered after her. If you get lost, you call me and I’ll pick you up. Don’t try to wander too far.” His voice was professional as he addressed her this time, and she could only nod at him.

“Any advice?” she tilted her head.

Elliot wiped a bead of sweat from his face with a towel. “Just watch your step and have fun with the deliveries.” he answered with a lopsided smile.

She took the list from him and went to grab the large delivery bag, of which she’d carry all the goods in to prevent from spilling or squishing. “Mrs. Schneider wants a dark chocolate cake with whipped cream and cherry toppings.” she muttered. Looking around the kitchen, she shouted, “Who has Mrs. Schneider’s cake?”

A hand quickly rose up, and the blunette quickly ran over to the female baker. “I’ve got it all boxed up, sweetie. Let me just put it inside.” The woman, Nicole Augustine by name, carefully placed the order in the bag, and patted her on the head. “Do be careful when you roam around. Wouldn’t want Baxter to freak out on us if you get lost,” Nicole smiled.

“I will.” Marinette told the redhead.

She went around the kitchen doing the same thing with the other bakers till her bag was filled with all her deliveries – and her snack box. A few more goodbyes and encouraging words were given by the other bakers, and with that, the bluenette left for Mrs. Schneider’s house.

“Let’s see, she’s five blocks east of the bakery, and in the third building of the baroque style apartments.” Marinette muttered. She had been to Mrs. Schneider’s before during a previous delivery, and needed only to recall the memory so it could pave her route to the woman’s house. It left the bluenette to simply follow its mental trail with a light step. She tossed a sideways glance at the building of _Collège_ Françoise Dupont, and tried to push down the bubble of disappointment that still lingered in her.

In five minutes, the bell would ring, and the first class of the school year would start – without her.

She shook her head. _No_ , _stay focused, Marinette!_ She turned at the curb and headed away from the school. “Woah, watch it, kid!” she heard a woman shout behind her. The girl whirled around just in time to see a boy dash past her. He was inches (practically right next to her!) from colliding with her as he leaped through the zebra crossing. The rush of wind that followed him unbalanced her, causing her to fall over with a small squeak. She winced as she landed hard on her bum. “Ow! Ah, that’s going to bruise!” Marinette whined and gingerly patted her lower back.

Well, at least it would, but with the odd way her skin operated, she couldn’t be sure.

She had the capacity to feel all the lingering pain from burns and bruises, like any normal human, but it wouldn’t show on her skin due to the doll part of her that refused to leave. Her bruises and burns were basically invisible, but still there. She realized that fact several months ago when she spilled hot tea on her arm. It stung whenever she touched the area spilled on, but her arm looked fine otherwise.

This doll quirk of hers was very inconvenient when it came to treating such injuries, much to her chagrin.

But that was a complaint for another time, for a thought suddenly hit her. _The pastries!_ She opened her bag and took a look at the boxes. From the transparent plastic windows, all the goods were intact. She let out a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness…” Her eyes darted to the fleeing figure of the boy who had almost ruined the sweets, and they narrowed in annoyance at such inconsideration.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t know other people use these streets!” she huffed and slowly got back on her feet.

Tikki’s voice echoed in her purse. “I’m sure there was somewhere important he had to get to.”

Marinette frowned. “Well, he should have at least apologized….”

The bluenette shook her head and walked down the road. She didn’t have time to let some blond teen ruin her day of exploring. She was going to deliver the orders, eat some tasty sweets, and by truffles, she was going to enjoy it! The day was still young, too young to be spoiled so early. And so Marinette marched onwards, head held high and a grin slowly returning to her face.

It wasn’t long before she was at the door of Mrs. Schneider’s house. She rang the doorbell and waited for the elderly lady, bouncing on her heels as she did. When the door opened, she straightened up, and came face to face with a tall, elegant woman who stood at least two feet taller than her. Marinette knew it was rude to stare at someone, but when it came to Mrs. Schneider, one couldn’t help but do just that.

Though the woman was in her twilight years, she still stood straight and confidently. Her face retained its beauty despite the few wrinkles that punctuated it, holding all the graceful poise the woman constantly showed whenever she moved or spoke. Her silver locks were combed back into a chic updo (a term that the woman had taught her), which emphasized Mrs. Schneider’s narrow face and highlighted the prominent cheek bones. A bright layer of gloss colored her lips, which went perfectly with the gold rimmed tinted glasses she wore – of which was oversized and inlayed with turquoise stone at the frames. Even with them on, Marinette could still see the bright eyes of hazel peeking behind the glass.

The woman’s attire was just as eye-catching, too. After all, how many 64-year olds wore denim jackets with skinny jeans and stilettoes and looked absolutely stunning? Not many, as far as Marinette was concerned. A lot of senior people she met didn’t seem too bothered with current fashion trends, preferring to either wear casual shirts and pants or older formal wear. It was probably the old fashion model in the German lady. Mrs. Schneider had told her a number of stories about the times she was still a young model who designed dresses on the side. It was impressive to see the woman’s taste in fashion hadn’t died down over the years. It was quite admirable actually. Such a thing must have taken great dedication and passion, which sadly seemed to wane in people when they reached Mrs. Schneider’s age.

“Ah. If it isn’t Marinette! _Guten Tag_ , my dear. I haven’t seen you in a while,” the woman greeted in her smooth, ever so slightly raspy voice; it was such an intriguing sound to hear. It was very friendly to the ear but it had a powerful undertone, one that made anyone who heard it perk up and pay attention; it was probably yet another trait the old woman carried from her modelling years.

Marinette smiled at her and took out the cake box from the bag. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Schneider. Here’s your order.”

“Ah, yes! I have been waiting for this cake. It will do wonderfully for the little party I’m having later.” The woman received the box carefully.

“What kind of party?” Marinette asked.

Mrs. Schneider chuckled deeply. “Why, a remembering party, dear! A few old colleagues of mine are in town, and we plan to reminisce about our days as top models.”

Marinette wouldn’t mind listening to that.

The old model seemed to have picked up the curious gaze in the girl’s eyes, for she bent down and looked the bluenette in the eye. “Would you, perhaps, like to join us, my dear?” she smiled. Marinette had to bite back the ‘yes’ that was at the back of her throat. “Another time, maybe. I still have a few orders to deliver.” she said remorsefully. The old model’s smile did not waver.

“Baxter is lucky to have such a focused helper like you, Marinette.” Mrs. Schneider said.

The old woman petted her head. “Thank you for the delivery dear.”

She grinned at the lady. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Schneider!”

Marinette uttered a soft goodbye and went on her way to the next delivery location. She took out her list and eyed the name of her next client. “Nathalie Sancouer, hmm? Not a familiar name.” she thought aloud. The location was at a park three blocks from where she was, and the order was for two boxes of assorted sweets – like her snack box kind of was.

“All right then! To the park!” Marinette said, and continued her merry way.

 

* * *

 

Adrien straightened up against the tree trunk, his body arching ever so slightly backwards as he leaned against the bark. His hand rested softly on his chin by the knuckles while the other hand dug into the pockets of his pants. He looked down with half-closed eyes and set his right foot across his left one by its tiptoes. He paused.

**FLASH!**

“Another great shot, M. Adrien! Let’s have a couple more and then we’ll take five!” the voice of his photographer was all but brimming with energy and enthusiasm – something Adrien had a deficiency of at the moment. Years of modelling made it difficult for anyone to see the dull disinterest in his eyes as he posed, for they twinkled in false exuberance every time the camera flashed; it was an instinct he had developed in his line of work. He was grateful for that. In all honesty, he really wanted to enjoy the photo shoot, but his mood just wouldn’t let up and it was hard not to have it show on his face. “Yes, Mr. Florence.” Adrien said with a strained smile.

His photographer went behind the camera and pointed to a nearby bench. “Let’s have the photos there.” Florence directed.

He nodded and took a seat, listening closely to Florence’s instruction. “Okay, I want you to lean against the bench and cross a leg. Do whatever you want with your arms,” the man said. With a nod, Adrien sat down. He lifted his right leg and rested it by the ankle right atop his left leg, which pointed forward on the ground. He let his shoulders lean into the back rest. He placed his hands behind his head as he tilted it to the right, and then he looked straight at the camera and grinned.

**FLASH!**

He removed his arms and had one lie atop the iron arm rest of the bench. The other hand moved gently to his chest, where his heart was, and clenched his shirt gently. He quickly moved his right leg and tucked it behind his left one; he put on smouldering smile and winked.

**FLASH!**

 “Excellent! Absolutely perfect! These will do great on the catalogue, M. Adrien.” his photographer said happily.

Adrien let himself relax on the bench. “So, let’s take five?”

“As you wish! I need to chat with the make-up crew!” Florence grabbed the camera and went to a group of people by the fountain.

The blond let out a loud sigh and slunk down the wooden bench. “What a relief!” Adrien said, finally releasing his fake smile and letting it shift into a frown. He was tired, he was upset, and after an hour of non-stop posing, he was hungry, too. The young model let out a groan, and after much mental debate, decided to sit up properly so as not to hurt his posture. He looked around the park, eyeing the photo crew who were chatting it up with Florence, and felt a twinge of jealousy in him when they laughed at something the photographer said.

It must have been nice for Florence, being able to work with friends at a job he loved.

Adrien had neither of that.

_Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch…_

Adrien actually _did_ like modelling – most of the time – as it provided him with something productive to do.

At least there were people who liked seeing him wear and, or, hold the items he was advertising. Being a model for his father’s famous fashion company, he was also given many opportunities to be in commercials, and he had had his share of brushing shoulders with a few celebrities every now and then. He was grateful for those opportunities, he wouldn’t lie. Not everyone could say they met famous actors on a regular basis.

Still, would it really kill his father to let him have a friend or two?

For the sake of his social sanity?

“Oh, if it isn’t that helpful boy from this morning!” he heard a creaky voice say.

He turned and found the man he had helped earlier standing right next to the bench. Adrien let out a mute shout and jumped in his seat. “I-it’s you! Didn’t see you there.” He took in a deep breath, and willed his racing heart to slow down. “You surprised me.”

The old man laughed. “I have a tendency to do that, yes.”

Adrien chuckled at the words. “What are you doing here in this park?”

“Observing.” came the calm reply.

The blonde raised a brow at the old man. “Observing? Uhm… Observing what?”

“Things. It’s something old people do. I won’t bore you with the details.” The man laughed again and walked up to take a seat beside him, leaning into the wooden cane he carried. “I have noticed that those young folk over there don’t bother talking to you though. Aren’t you with them?” the man nodded at Florence and the crew.

Adrien put on a small smile. “They work for me, in a way. I’m not really close with any of them.”

“Why not try to talk to them?”

“What is there to talk about? I don’t think they’d be interested in what I like, and vice versa.” Adrien paused for a moment. “Unless they like anime,” he laughed at the thought.

The man beside him nodded. “I see your predicament. Anime is not usually something people their age talk about. It’s a shame. A good action anime is always nice.”

Adrien perked up.

Was this guy into anime like him?

“Do… do _you_ watch anime?” he dared ask.

The old man nodded. “I have a grandchild who watches them with me. Boku no Hero Academia is a promising one that I like to watch with her sometimes.”

“It’s a really good anime! The manga it’s based on is also really good, and I love the main character!” Adrien could imagine the flustered, nervous protagonist of the anime series, and how despite being born without powers, never gave up on his dream.

“Ah yes. Deku, was it? He’s got a good heart. I’m glad he was able to get into that super hero school of his.” the man hummed.

Adrien’s smile grew. “I know! Super heroes are awesome! They get to help people, and do amazing things, and man, the places they get to go. I love animes like that.”

The old man gave a small scratch at his goatee. “It must be dangerous though. Didn’t that kid break his arms and legs a lot of times during fights? Being a super hero seems to be quite perilous.” he muttered.

Adrien recalled those episodes to mind. Deku’s power – or “Quirk” as the anime called it – gave him super strength, but since the boy wasn’t used to it, his body would get constantly broken from using his powers. Even though it was just animation, the blond cringed thinking of the pain the main character had to endure. “It’s part of the job, I guess.” He found the words escape him while he pondered.

“That’s quite the occupational hazard.” The man gave him a curious look.

Adrien gave a small shrug. “I think it makes sense. Maybe the dangers and risks of being a super hero….. maybe it weeds out the people who are the real super heroes, like a test. A real hero will always find a reason to keep fighting to protect others, because they know it’s worth the pain.” He blinked in surprise when the old man let out a chuckle.

“Good answer.” The man got up and dipped his head at the boy. “This was a nice talk. I’m afraid I have to go now. I have important things that need tending to and I don’t like being late.”

Adrien felt a pang of disappointment, but he smiled at the man. “I hope we meet again Mr…?”

“Fu,” the old man finished, “and I hope we _do_ see each other again.”

The man gave him a pat on the back. He watched him rattle away with a clack of his wooden cane, humming a small tune as he went his merry way. Adrien wished Mr. Fu would have stayed longer. He was a cool guy. For one thing, he liked anime. He also didn’t talk to Adrien like he was a child, or a famous celebrity. The man treated him on equal grounds, and took his opinions seriously.

And the old man liked anime.

Adrien didn’t think he’d ever come across a man as old as Mr. Fu who watched shows like that. It felt so rare and infrequent. The blond felt like he had discovered a rare find of sorts.

_His grandkid is so lucky._

Mr. Fu was probably an awesome grandfather.

Would the man be against adopting him as a grandson?

Adrien let out a small laugh. “Now there’s an idea,” he sighed. “I don’t think father would like him though.” Gabriel would definitely be put off by Mr. Fu’s light way of handling things. His father was much too uptight to enjoy the old man’s carefree air, and Mr. Fu likewise wouldn’t appreciate Gabriel’s steely way of handling things. The blonde found it hard to imagine either men being related to each other. They were just too different, too opposing in personalities.

“M. Adrien, great news!” Florence’s voice pulled him from his musings.

His photographer was waving a magazine at him. Adrien recognized the bold red letters of 93 Style’s fashion magazine on the cover, along with his own face posed beneath it. “Your copy of the newest issue just arrived! 93 used a two-page spread for the latest interview they had with you. Isn’t that great? Take a look -” The photographer cried out when a strong gust of wind swept through the park. It swept the magazine right out of the man’s loose grip, sending it flapping about in the air.

“Oh no! Not the magazine!” Florence gasped.

Adrien jumped up from the bench and chased after it. “I’ll get it!” he cried, ignoring the photographer’s feeble protest. He raced right behind the magazine, which incredibly was still airborne due to the wind. _This wind is ridiculously strong_ , Adrien thought. Where had it even come from? He knew that autumn winds tended to do this every now and then, but this was almost comical. When the wind began to die down, Adrien took the opportunity and jumped. His eyes were trained right on the magazine when he shot his hand out, and he felt a satisfaction well up inside him as his fingers clenched firmly on the pages.

“Got you!” he grinned happily.

Ah, but he had underestimated the momentum he had garnered in his run, and so when the blond landed back on the ground, he found he couldn’t immediately stop right there and then. Instead, he was carried forward, out of his control, and right into the poor soul unfortunate enough to be in his way. Adrien gritted his teeth as he felt his body painfully collide with the other person’s, and heard both of them scream as they toppled down.

He could feel all of his body convulse with the ache in his muscles. “I did _not_ think that jump through.” His right shoulder was extremely sore and the rest of him fared none too better.

“Definitely not,” he heard a voice groan.

With wide eyes he looked down and saw that he was, in fact, on top of the person he had rammed into. “O-oh! I’m sorry! Let me just-” he scrambled off her and landed with a thud on his bum. “I am so sorry! A-are you okay?”

Adrien’s gaze locked with a pair of stunning bluebell eyes – of which were narrowed and furrowing. The owner of the scowl was a girl about his age. She laid slump on the ground with her clothes all ruffled and dirty. “That’s a funny question to ask,” she answered, “considering what happened.” She sat up with a groan and delicately dusted herself. “That’s the second time I’ve fallen today.” Her voice came out in a pained whisper, doubling the guilt he already felt weighing in his gut.

He looked at her apologetically. “I-I am _so_ sorry. I was just trying to get this magazine and-” he was cut off by her sudden outcry.

“You?!” she said, eyes widening, “You’re the boy who ran past me this morning, aren’t you? The one who was late for school?”

“E-excuse me?” he stuttered.

_Oh boy._

The girl’s frowned deepened. “Thanks to you not looking where you were going, I got knocked down earlier and almost had all my pastries…” A look of horror overtook her features and Adrien could only watch dumbly as she began to look around frantically.

“M-my delivery bag! Where did it go?!” she cried.

Adrien looked at her quizzically. “Your what?”

She glared at him and opened her mouth – probably to berate him some more – but then gasped and crawled towards him. “Please move!” she ordered. He ducked away from her and watched as she grabbed the large bag that was behind him.

“ _Mon dieu_! Please be okay!” the girl whined.

She looked at the bag’s contents silently, shuffling through whatever was inside, and then, with a sigh, sat back down. “Thank goodness! The cakes are fine!” she said weakly.

Adrien watched the girl with guilt-tinged curiosity. “I… I really am sorry about running into you – o-on both occasions,” he managed to say. He got up and offered his hand to her. She stared at him with suspicion. A tense moment passed by before she slowly nodded and reached out to him. Her hand, which was smaller than his by a noticeable amount, felt soft against his palm, and when she stared at him with those wide blue eyes of hers, with an expression that was now gentle and kind, he felt all of the soreness slip away from his body.

“Well, I guess it can’t be helped.” the girl nodded.

He smiled nervously at her. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no it’s fine. Your apology will suffice. I really can’t stay. I have to deliver some pastries to someone here.” The girl paused a moment. “Do you know anyone by the name of Nathalie Sancouer?”

He perked up and nodded. “Actually, yes, I do. She works for my father. Are you looking for her?”

“She ordered some pastries from a bakery I work in, and I’m supposed to meet her here.” The girl explained, taking out a couple of boxes from her bag. “Is she around?”

Adrien shook his head. Nathalie had left some time ago, muttering on how she needed to settle some financial matters. The woman had told him she’d return in a couple of hours. “She won’t be back in a while.”

He saw the girl deflate slightly. “Oh? Dear me, I still have other orders to deliver…” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

And that’s when an idea lit up in his head.

“I could hold onto those until she gets back. You don’t have to wait for her.” He offered a warm smile at the girl.

She looked unsure of his suggestion. “Well…” Her eyes shifted from him to her bag, and then back to him again. “I _do_ have a schedule to keep, and I can’t let the other customers wait…” she said softly. He straightened up when she finally nodded, and readily took the couple of boxes she handed him.

“Thank you. This is a big help.” She cast him a smile, and he couldn’t help but return it with his own.

“It’s the least I can do for crashing into you,” Adrien chuckled.

She let out a small giggle of her own. “Trust me, I’ve had worse falls.”

The girl dipped her head, quickly adding, “Sorry for shouting at you, by the way,” before she turned and jogged off into the distance. She looked back and waved at him, treating him to one more of her oddly invigorating smiles as she did.

It lingered in the forefront of his mind for a few precious moments, and in that time, he found himself grinning – both at the funny situation he had gotten himself into and at the delivery girl’s odd way of handling things.

She should have been madder at him, in all honesty.

Heck, he had dirtied her clothes _and_ almost ruined the pastries she was delivering.

And yet she took it all quite mildly, and seemed quick to forgive his carelessness.

“Ah,” Adrien realized, “I didn’t even get her name…”

What a pity. He would have liked to apologize to her properly, perhaps make it up to her. The model sighed and began his walk back to the photo shoot. When he returned, he was greeted by a very worried Florence and half of the make-up crew.

“Oh my goodness! M. Adrien, what happened to you?! Did you fall down while getting the magazine!?” the photographer fretted. “Mdme. Sancouer will have my head!” The man turned to the people behind him and motioned to Adrien with his hand. “Fix him up!” Florence ordered.

Adrien didn’t protest as the crew swarmed around him, dusting him off, fixing his hair, and cleaning the minor scratches on his arm. The blond model didn’t really seem to notice at all. He was much too occupied thinking about that mysterious blue-haired delivery girl. His hands clenched firmly on the box she had given him. He ignored the staff members’ protests of him not letting it go. After all, Adrien had made a promise. He was going to give this to Nathalie; it was the least he could do. A few hours after, his caretaker arrived, and from the alarmed look on her face, he was in for quite the scolding.

“Adrien, what in the world happened to you?!” the woman demanded.

He could only smile at her guiltily.

He held the boxes up to her. “I, uh, got your delivery?”

 

* * *

 

Marinette’s body still ached while she went about with her deliveries. Her back felt especially sore, and made it a point to inconvenience her as much as it could with sudden painful tingles along her spine. Some of the customers would notice the pained look on her face when she’d hand them their orders. They’d comment on how she was doing, if she wanted to sit down, or if perhaps she needed a glass of water.

 _Bless their hearts_.

Now that she was done delivering the last cake (it was a red velvet birthday cake with strawberry icing) she made her way back to the bakery. The bluenette let out a groan. “I hope this doesn’t carry on into tomorrow,” she sighed, gripping the strap of her bag when another tingle shot through her.

Oh, yeah.

This was going to bother her _all_ week.

Tikki peeked out from her purse and smiled at her sympathetically. “At least you’re done delivering those orders!” the Kwami said, “Now we can go home and have you rest!”

Marinette smiled. “Yeah. I think I need a few hours lying down on my bed.”

She opened her bag and took out a cream puff, which she happily gobbled down in two swift bites. As always, the strawberry cream was excellent. It was sweet but tangy; this was her favourite flavor combination. As much as she liked the pure sweetness of a macaron or a merengue puff, it was the sweets with dual flavors that she liked best. What did one call that? When something tasted really good?

Flavorable?

Delectable?

Mouthwatering?

_No. There was another word…_

She stopped in her steps. “Ambrosial!” Marinette gasped happily “Oh yes, that’s the term I was thinking of!” Yes indeed. Foods that were skilfully infused with a multitude of flavors were what she’d call ambrosial.

When she realized that bystanders were eyeing her outburst oddly, the girl blushed and hasted her way down the street. She had to stop thinking out loud, she chastised herself. It was fine to do when she was a doll, what with people not being able to hear her, but now she was a human, and that meant she had to be careful. There were multiple times in the past when she thought she was thinking, only for Baxter to comment on her thoughts. The sooner she got home the less embarrassment she’d give herself.

She was only a couple of blocks away from the bakery. If she sprinted, she’d probably be there in five minutes flat. “Yeah, I can probably-” she was cut off by a painful twinge in her back.

It didn’t like the sound of that plan.

Marinette sighed. “You’re no help,” she grumbled. The bluenette paced herself faster though. She wasn’t about to have a total defeat.

The bells of Françoise Dupont began to ring when she reached the bakery, signalling the end of the school’s first day back. It made her frown, as it reminded her of what she had missed. Oh, if only her pesky birth certificate hadn’t met complications! She’d probably be in one of those classrooms, making new friends, learning new things, and just being a normal human all in all. _Not today_ , she thought sadly.

She watched the students file out, an envy hidden just behind her calm gaze. They were all chattering and laughing with each other; she could’ve been doing that, too.

“Marinette! There you are!” Baxter’s voice had her turn around.

She looked at the man and noted the small briefcase in his hands. Her eyes sparked in curiosity. “Is that my birth certificate?” she quirked a brow at him. The man nodded. “All fixed and ready to be submitted. I was just about to head over to the school to give your documents.” He paused, and with a knowing grin added, “You want to come with me?”

“Yes!” the words left her mouth not a second later.

Baxter let out a chuckle and ruffled her hair, and then linked their arms together. “Well then, Biscuit. Let’s go to school.”

The two shared matching grins as they crossed the street and onwards, towards the gates of Françoise Dupont. And even though Marinette’s back protested with such a brisk walk (they were practically running) she ignored the painful tingles, too happy to even notice them.

 

* * *

 

“How could you let him chase after that magazine?!”

Nathalie’s stern voice made Adrien flinch, despite her rage not being directed at him. No, the woman’s rage was for poor Mr. Florence, who seemed to tremble under Nathalie’s steely gaze. Adrien could only watch from the side lines while the other staff tended to his scratches.

“You know very well how important a model’s body is! What if he got more than scratches?!” Nathalie seethed.

Florence fiddled with the knobs of his cameras, averting direct eye contact with her. “B-but m-madam, I did try to-”

The woman cut him off with a scoff. “Ah yes, you _tried_. And look where that got you.”

“We treated his scratches right away though. There won’t be any scarring.” the man muttered. He straightened up and, showing her the screen of his camera added, “Besides, we’ve got many good pictures. See for yourself.”

Adrien bit back a groan as Nathalie looked over the photos. The woman’s glare didn’t soften in the slightest. If anything, it hardened. That wasn’t a good sign. It never was. Florence was just digging his grave deeper. “This is it?” the advisor said, “These are all you could take? When we hired you for this project, we expected something better than this.”

The photographer gave her an insulted look. “With all due respect Mdme. Sancouer, these were all I could take in two hours. Two hours. Most photographers would be lucky to get half as many in that time.” Florence said curtly. “I made sure each one I took was catalogue worthy as well! Look at them again and tell me otherwise.”

But Nathalie did him no kindness.

“I’m ending today’s photo shoot. We will continue again tomorrow, and hopefully by then you’ll make better decisions.” The woman did not let the man say another word, and walked away. Adrien caught Florence’s pitiful gaze and offered a sympathetic smile, but the photographer just shook his head and turned away, off to tend to the rest of the set.

Nathalie in the meantime went over to the blonde’s side. “Are you sure you only sustained scratches? We could go to the hospital to make sure,” she said, a bit of concern in her tone.

“I’m okay, Nathalie, really.” Adrien reassured.

The advisor nodded. “Very well. We’re going home now. You should rest for the remainder of the afternoon. I’ll reschedule your appointments in the meantime.”

He followed after the woman, out of the park, and into his car. From the corner of his eye, he made out the sulking figure of Florence, hunched over on the ledge of the fountain, face sullen. Adrien could only hope the man would not take Nathalie’s words to heart. The car drove off with a quiet grumble, and in his seat he tried to think of the happier parts of the photo shoot. For what it was worth, this particular one was very….interesting.

He met an old man who liked anime.

He met a girl whose smile made his heart flutter.

The latter of the two had him thinking, ‘when did that ever happen?’. Though it was true his social interaction with anyone outside of Nathalie and his father – and even that was kind of rare – was few and far between, he certainly never had such a reaction to a girl before.

And he worked with models.

So that was saying something.

Not that the bluenette wasn’t pretty of course. On the contrary, Adrien thought, she was very fetching. Her complexion was a perfect pinkish white, with a body that was blown-away-by-the-wind thin and yet finely shaped. Pigtails seemed an odd choice of hairstyle for someone her age (she looked to be about as old as him) but if anything, they matched the energy that seemed to spill out of those eyes of hers. Those eyes. They were like two pools holding the summer sky, and they shared the same radiance and kind warmth. It was such a contrast to his father’s eyes; they were cold and critical. He could barely look his father squarely, but he could lose himself in hers…

Now he _really_ wished he got her name.

 

* * *

 

“It seems all your documents are here. Yes, I think everything is in order.”

Marinette beamed at the old man holding her papers. He was M. Damocles, principal of Françoise Dupont. She and Baxter had run into him upon arriving at the school, and he was kind enough to look over the finalization of her enrolment. It didn’t even take an hour. Before she knew it, Marinette was shaking hands with the distinguished fellow. Damocles gave her a whiskery smile. “Welcome to Françoise Dupont, Miss Dupain.”

“Thank you for having me, Monsieur!” she grinned.

The principal took out a small booklet from a drawer, along with a couple of pamphlets, and handed it to her. “This is the rulebook, of which I hope you get acquainted with fast. The pamphlets contain a map of the school, and your class schedule. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” M. Damocles dismissed them shortly after that, and Marinette was all but jovial.

“I can’t believe it, Baxter! Starting tomorrow, I’ll be an actual student!” She giggled at the thought.

Her guardian nodded happily. “You better believe it, Biscuit.”

“I can hardly contain myself! I’ve been waiting for a whole year and now, finally, I’m going to school!” she said.

“Yes, I know.” Baxter chuckled.

“Oh, to receive an education! What a privilege!”

“Actually, it’s supposed to be a right-”

Marinette skipped a few steps ahead of him. “Let’s hurry home! I _must_ tell Elliot about this! Oh, and then I should prepare my bag! I know I’ve packed already but it never hurts to re-check….” She became lost in her thoughts and rambled on through the whole trip home.

She did not notice Baxter’s smile slipping, nor did she catch the grief that flashed in his eyes.

When she turned back to him, she only saw his usual grin. He hurried his pace so that he walked next to her. “Don’t stress yourself too much. Just do your best…. and have a blast doing it.” the man said cheerfully. “Just have fun in general, okay, Biscuit?”

She nodded, all but happy to comply. “Yes, sir!”

By the time they reached the bakery, Marinette was surprised to see all the lights turned off. It was too early to close shop. The sun wasn’t near setting yet. “That’s odd. The bakery doesn’t close for another two hours.” She turned to Baxter. “What do you think happened?”

The man shrugged innocently. “Maybe a circuit went out again. It _has_ happened before,” he suggested.

She grabbed the handle, surprised it wasn’t locked (Elliot _always_ locked up before leaving), and pushed the door open. No sooner had she done this, all the lights flashed on and basked her in its initial glare, robbing her of sight for but a few moments. She had to squint to make out the people who were in the shop, and of all the decorations around the room.

Like the streamers.

And the balloons.

And the huge banner that read: ‘CONGRATULATIONS, MARINETTE!’ was very hard to miss.

Confusion painted over her face as she looked at all the employees. “What is this?” she said dumbly. Laughter broke out among the bakers, and Elliot went up to pat her head. “It’s obviously a party, one for you!” the man grinned.

“B-but when did you…” her words were lost in her shock.

Elliot nodded his head at Baxter. “This guy had us prepare it shortly after you left.”

She looked back at her guardian and gasped. “You brought me to school on purpose.”

“Well, they needed a bit more time to finish prepping, and _you’d_ get to see the building.” Baxter shrugged.

She playfully nudged him with her shoulder, her eyes scowling, but filled with happy gratitude. “You didn’t have to do this, silly.” Baxter’s smile only widened. “Well I,” Elliot let out a loud cough. “ _we_ wanted to.” Baxter rephrased. “Now come on! We’ve got a strawberry cake with your name on it!” Marinette laughed as she was pulled into the welcoming mass of bakers. They cheered and smiled, passing plates and cutlery around. Soon everyone was gobbling down some sort of pastry.

Baxter and Elliot had started a contest between themselves and had their plates stacked up with slices and wedges to see who could eat more. She laughed along with the others as the two scarfed down their impossibly large piles. “Go Elliot! Go Baxter!” Marinette cheered.

Baxter looked at her, injured. “Phey! Vhy ish hiff nmmm frrffvt?” he said between mouthfuls of cake, but he really meant ‘ _Hey! Why is his name first?_ ’. She just shook her head at the brunette. “Stay focused, Baxter! Elliot’s gaining the lead!” a baker laughed.

Marinette nearly choked on her own cake when Baxter stuffed his cheeks full of a pie slice; his cheeks were bulging like a chipmunks and his stubble was clung with crumb. She let herself get lost in all the frivolity and merriment. It was really nice, being with people. How had she ever lived in such silence before? The noise, the laughter, the atmosphere, it all made her feel so light.

Perhaps this day wasn’t so bad after all…

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in Paris, within a room draped in shadows, a figure glided forward. A window opened itself and cast the figure in a cold light, illuminating the tall, lithe silhouette of a man. He was dressed in a dark purple suit and held a black cane in his hands. His face was covered by a silver head mask that revealed only his eyes and mouth, the latter of which twisted into a sinister smile.

The light also revealed a mass of white butterflies scattered on the floor; they took off to the air as soon as its rays made contact with them. One butterfly landed on the man’s outstretched hand. “Oh yes,” he said, low and rumbling. “This negative feeling, it is perfect. I have found a suitable host.” With his other hand, the man cupped the butterfly. His smile grew as a swarm of shadows consumed the little insect, tainting the pure white wings with its murky black and gleaming purple.

“Go, my little akuma. Fly to the sullen photographer. Fill his heart with darkness.”

The butterfly did his bidding and flew off, through the opening in the window, and out into the world to seek its target.

The man stared after it, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. He was no longer in the shadowy room. Now he was high above Paris, soaring through the sky, sharing the sight of his little minion. He flew past buildings and people till finally he spotted his vassal. The blonde man was sulking by a park fountain and fumbling with the camera in his hands.

“There, my akuma! Take him now!”

The black butterfly dove down.

It phased into its target’s camera.

The masked man’s vision blacked out for a moment, and then returned with him seeing the face of his vassal. His grin widened. It worked. It had actually worked. Oh, how long he’d waited to try his power out, to see if it would actually work.

And it had.

_Perfect._

“ _Picturesque, I am Hawkmoth_.” His voice echoed into his victim’s mind. “ _I have seen the wrong done to you. It is not fair, is it? To be blamed for something you could not control._ ” Hawkmoth could feel the resentment that coursed through the blonde man’s soul. It made him smirk. “ _I will help you get justice! I offer you the power to avenge yourself._ ”

He paused.

“ _Will you accept my power?_ ” he drawled out.

Another pause.

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Came Picturesque’s fierce reply.

Hawkmoth let out a booming cackle and gripped his cane. He pointed it at the window, saying, “ _The deal is struck! Go, go and have your justice!_ ” A swirl of shadows wrapped itself around his victim’s body, morphing and twisting around the man till, with a resound whoosh, dispersed to reveal his vassal. His villain. From his hiding place, Hawkmoth’s eyes gleamed in sick delight. “The hunt has begun! Cause chaos my villain! Terrorize Paris until the heroes come! Sow discord amid the peace! Draw out Ladybug and Chat Noir!” He gripped the butterfly brooch on his chest and sneered.

“And when they come, their Miraculous will be mine!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! After four chapters, our two adorable dolts have finally met! I hope their first meeting was satisfying. It wrote several versions of their meeting before settling with the one presented before you. 
> 
> Which part of this chapter was your favorite, Sweetie? Do tell me in the Comments, and why.
> 
> Till next time!


	6. A Picturesque Pair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervously shuffles into view*  
> O-oh! Hello, dear reader! How long has it been? A week? A month?
> 
> Nearly a year, yeah, I know. 
> 
> I deeply apologized for this severely late addition to my story. On the bright side, however, I didn't lie to you when I said I wasn't giving up on this story. Believe me when I tell you that I've planned the entire plot out. It's really just the execution of the plot (and its organized chapters) that end up with me stuck in a rut at times.
> 
> Regardless, here is the newest chapter! I made it longer than what was originally intended because: 
> 
> 1\. I made you wait for quite some time to get this  
> 2\. You deserve a long chapter to indulge yourself in
> 
> No more words, dear reader! Please enjoy the latest installment of TaDE!

Marinette had probably gone through a dozen or so cupcakes within the hour, and all that remained of those sweets were the colourful icings that stuck to the side of her lips. “Jeez, Biscuit, you eat like a horse!” she turned to see Baxter eyeing her plate – there were at least six cakes on it. She laughed. “Only if it’s sweets. And hey, I’m a light eater compared to you!” she said, pointing at his own stack of sweet confections. The man rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m a baker, so of course I’m used to eating this much.” Baxter said.

She clicked her tongue. “You just had an eating contest, too. Thank goodness you don’t eat any of your inventory.”

The brunette grinned impishly. “Who says I don’t?”

“Elliot says he smacks you with a rolling pin every time you try.” Came her cheeky reply.

Baxter let out a huff and bit down on a chocolate cake slice. “Hmph! He doesn’t catch me _every time_.”

From across the room, they heard Elliot’s voice shout, “Yes I do!” followed by the laughter of the other employees. Marinette had to bite back her own snigger when Baxter looked at her accusingly. He took out a small kerchief and wiped the icing off her cheeks. “I let them spoil you too much. They’re always taking your side.” he smiled.

“You spoil me, too.” She pointed out the streamers, the banner, and the table full of sweets.

Baxter wiped off the last of the icing and shrugged. “I’m your big brother; it’s my right.”

“Well, I appreciate it…. so thanks, Baxter.” She gave him a small hug, and was rewarded with one from him. “No problem, Biscuit.”

On that note, the man left to chat up with his fellow bakers, leaving Marinette to enjoy the rest of her sweets. Technically, the ones on her plate weren’t for _her_ per say. They were for Tikki, who had patiently waited in her purse the whole time. Marinette made a hasty retreat and went up to the house unit. “Sorry it took so long, Tikki! I got you the best pieces!” she said, placing the plate on the table.

Her kwami flew out of her pocket. “Oh, it’s fine, Marinette! Thanks for getting me some!” The little god zoomed over to her share of treats. “There’s so much to choose from! I can’t decide where to start!” In the end, Tikki chose a nice red velvet cake to dig in to.

Marinette smiled at her kwami, and slumped onto the couch with a contented sigh. The enjoyment and energy from the party – and the sweets, couldn’t forget those – had left her stuffed and sated. There was a small drowse that loomed in the back of her mind, one that wanted to lull her off to dreamland. “This is nice…” she mumbled. She was honestly quite tired at this point. Between running around Paris and being part of a very lively celebration, there wasn’t much energy left in her.

She was drained.

And it felt good, in an odd way.

Fatigue was something she still needed to get used to. As a doll, there was an impossibility of ever feeling such a sensation. Such a thing was only acquired through a thorough use of one’s body – and as a doll, Marinette never so much as twitched. This was something unique to living beings, to humans, and it made the bluenette smile because she was human now(more or less).

She leaned into the soft cushions of the sofa.

If she were to fall asleep now, she wouldn’t mind. Sleep was always nicer when one was tired. It was difficult to explain, but when she’d sleep after working hard, all the ache would leave her, and she’d be left with a blissful feeling of relief.

Her eyes drooped more as she took in the tranquil sensation.

Her vision blurred for but a moment, and then her eyelids closed.

Sleep took her in its embrace.

In her dreams, Marinette was having tea alone in the middle of a great meadow. The long blades of green and blue grass swayed to the rhythm of a lazy breeze. From where she sat on a red picnic cloth, they looked like an emerald ocean, folding and bending to a steady drumbeat. It was only her lone hill with its solitary tree that stuck out in the vastness. “The weather sure is lovely today…” She looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud dotting the vast expanse of twinkling blue. There was no sun shining above the girl, but instead, a cluster of stars illuminated all that she saw. She thought it was lovely.

It didn’t really make sense for them to be there of course, but dreams seldom followed the rules of reality.

She took a sip then, and closed her eyes as the warm liquid ran down her throat. The sounds of bird song floated through the air in a soft melody, creating the perfect atmosphere for one enjoying tea: calm and unhurried. “The brew is really good today, too.” she hummed to herself and took another sip.

She liked this dream best among all the others she had. There wasn’t much to do of course, save for drinking tea and eating cakes, but she liked it nonetheless. There was a calmness to this dream. It remained constant and unchanging, undisturbed by the otherwise chaotic flow of dreamland. Once she was in it, she would have no other dream for the rest of her slumber. It was surprising how often she had this same dream. Every other night she’d find herself in the same blanketed spot, underneath the same large tree, before the same green ocean.

She had tried exploring before, tried to see what else there was in this particular dream. She wouldn’t get far though. The moment she’d reach the end of her small hill, the blades of grass would rise up and tower her, and then gently push her back from the edge.

She had tried getting past several times on several occasions.

The grass responded the same every time.

She eventually gave up the idea of exploring. It was obvious her dream didn’t want her to. Not yet anyway. “When it wants me to explore, it will let me,” she had said, and settled down to enjoy the meal her dream had provided. Arguing with the logic of a dream was as foolish as it was futile.

That was months ago.

Now, whenever she’d have this oddball of a dream, she’d make the most of it and enjoy it to the fullest – just like she was currently.

And then something new happened.

She heard it before she saw it.

The grass, which had rippled randomly to and fro, began to trickle off in the same direction, towards the horizon. The languid beat it followed turned swift and urgent. Soon the whole ocean was pulsating, moving and waving to the same beat, the same direction. The waves spread far beyond Marinette’s sight. When they were far enough away, they rose up from the ground and took flight. She watched as dozens of grass blades leaped into the blue sky. There was no strong wind that carried them and yet they were lifted higher and higher. They swirled together, fluidly dancing in fleet synchrony, weaving closer together as they did.

Then, to her astonishment, they swerved and jerked in the air. It was if the cluster of grass was in pain. Left and right it violently swayed, building in length and volume as it did. Slowly the cluster solidified into a silhouette. The blades moved and folded and bended. Together they weaved into a mighty head.

A dragon head.

“What is that?” she asked.

Her inner doll answered her. ‘ _Trouble, that’s what._ ’

The newly formed grass dragon slid across the sky, towards them. It was an intimidating sight. The beast was more serpentine than it was draconic, slithering to and fro through the air. Only the pair of wings it had propelled it forward. As it moved closer, the leaves that made up its body occasionally shuddered, making it sound like it was hissing at them. ‘ _Just ignore it,_ ” said Inner Doll. ‘ _It just wants attention._ ’

Marinette looked uncertain. “But…”

‘ _Sshh! Here it comes!_ ’

She felt a sudden gust of wind blow her down, and turned just in time to see a pair of eyes staring right at her. For a moment, their icy blue gaze captured her and she couldn’t help but stare at them. The dragon was so much bigger up close. Its mere head was the size of a car, its body the length of a river. Its maw gaped at her, revealing a row of jagged teeth. If this thing wanted to, it could devour her in a gulp, but it didn’t. It floated still before her. It seemed to be waiting for something.

She gulped.

‘ _Ignore it._ ’ Inner Doll whispered.

Had it been any other situation, Marinette would have argued, but she was facing potential danger and she had no idea what to do. Jaw clenched, eyes closed, she turned her head away. She could still hear the hissing of the grass dragon’s body. A chill ran up her spine when she heard a low growl. ‘ _Ignore it._ ’ her inner doll whispered again. In response, the growling grew louder. A few moments passed. Marinette did not move. She could feel the dragon’s head moving close to her face, and heard its growl soften after a while.

And then, with a piercing roar that had her tumbling back, she felt it fly past her. She opened her eyes and saw the length of the dragon’s body rush over her. Quick as a train, it zoomed off and away, leaving only a few stray blades fluttering in the wind. She was left breathless, eyes wide in shock, and skin laced in cold sweat. She watched the dragon’s body grow smaller as it went farther away. It wasn’t until it had become a mere dot did she turn around. She let out the breath she had unknowingly held, which came out in a shudder.

“What was that thing?” she said aloud.

Inner Doll’s voice came out grim. ‘ _A harbinger of bad news._ ’

“W-what do you mean? Bad news? What bad news?”

There was a pause. ‘ _It-_ ’

“Marinette!” Tikki’s voice echoed through the air, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked around. “Tikki? Where are you?”

“Marinette, wake up!” the Kwami’s voice grew louder.

“Wake up? Why do I need to-”

Tikki’s voice rang a third time. “Please wake up, Marinette!”

Her dream shuddered at once, and Marinette watched as it began to come undone. The sky crumbled and cracked, and pieces of it fell down. The green ocean rose up in a torrent and swirled, like a tornado, around her hill. Darker and darker her surroundings became. The leaves flew closer and closer, fluttering noisily with the shrieking winds. The bluenette shut her eyes tight…

And just like that, she was back in the living room. She jolted up on the couch.

“Tikki?! What is it?” she turned to the red Kwami.

“I felt something, Marinette! There is a disturbance in the air! Something negative and powerful is nearby!” Tikki floated around the room, confused. “I think it’s an akuma but it doesn’t feel exactly the same.”

Marinette looked at her worriedly. “A-akuma? You mean those things that possess someone and make them evil?”

“Yes! But, this one feels different.” Tikki said nervously.

“Different how?”

Tikki flew up to her face. “I’m not sure, but one thing is certain, Marinette. Something evil has come out of hiding, and _you_ have to stop it!”

Her uncertainty was a perfect opposite to Tikki’s confidence. “Wh-what, now? I don’t know, Tikki. Am I ready for it? I… I don’t think I can handle this yet.” Her Kwami smiled at her. “You can do it, Marinette. Just believe in yourself!”

She chuckled nervously. “Easier said than done…”

Even though she knew it was part of the deal, Marinette just couldn’t imagine herself being a superhero – or at least a _competent_ one. Not now. She wasn’t nearly ready yet. She was still clumsy at best when moving. She ran into things less often but also tripped over nothing at times. She’d surely mess up, get something wrong…..maybe fail. Oh, she was more than willing to fight, but that did not guarantee she’d be good at it. She’d hate to let Tikki down. And Master Fu. And Baxter. They were all so sure she’d be fine but…

“Hey Biscuit, what’s taking you so long up here?” Baxter arrived with a plate of cake, all smiley and happy – everything she wasn’t at the moment.

Tikki flew over to the man, her eyes brimming with excitement. “Guess what, Baxter? I felt the presence of an akuma nearby! Marinette’s finally going to use her powers!”

Baxter’s smile vanished in a second. In its place was a look of shock, and perhaps a twinge of worry. “W-what, you mean right now? _Right now_ , right now?” he stuttered and almost lost his grip on the plate. He left his cake on the table and walked up to Marinette. “You okay, kid?”

“No. I’m nervous.” She admitted with a shake of her head.

The brunette smiled at her (but there was a sadness to them, too) and patted her head. “Nothing wrong with that. You’re about to do something you’ve never tried before.”

She nodded. “What if I fail though?”

“You won’t know until you try. Besides, this is part of your….of your job, remember?” Baxter said.

“I know…”

She felt his hands take hers and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Just do your best, Biscuit.”

She looked into his baby blue eyes and in them she saw Bernard. They were just as kind and comforting, and full of belief in her. She felt some of her unease go away. “Okay, let’s do this.” She turned to Tikki and saw her kwami beaming at her.

“You know what to do.” Tikki said.

Marinette nodded and walked up to her partner.

“Tikki, Transform me!”

 

* * *

 

The silence of his house was deafening, evidenced by the echo of his footsteps as he walked inside. Nathalie and Gorilla followed in shortly after. “You have the rest of the afternoon to rest. Use it wisely,” he heard the adviser say. He nodded absently. The sooner he got to his room, the sooner he could switch the television on, and drown out the silence with music and chatter. Adrien tried not to run, as it would be rude, and Nathalie would most likely misinterpret it and press him with more questions.

He didn’t need any of that.

The hallway to his room was long and cold, and his footsteps echoed louder here than anywhere else in the house. He hated it. It was a constant reminder of his isolation, of his separation from everything else. As he walked, Adrien gritted his teeth and tried to tune out the sound. His eyes shifted here and there, jumping from painting to painting. He’d run, but that would make the echoes louder. “Almost there, Adrien…” he told himself. The door was but a few feet away. He reached out for the knob and, swinging it open, dove inside and shut the door with a soft click.

“Finally,” he sighed. He shrugged off his bag and threw it on the couch, eased into the cushions of the furniture himself, and unwound.

His hand reached for the remote on the coffee table. He tuned into the news channel and let the chatter of the reporters dissipate the silence. The voices of the news folk offered him a strange form of placidity, of which he felt he needed given the awkward ride back home. He still felt guilty about poor Florence. The guy wasn’t totally at fault, and certainly didn’t deserve the scolding Nathalie gave.

In the back of his mind, Adrien promised to apologize to the photographer the following day.

“It’s the least I can do.” He hummed into the soft pillow he rested on.

All the modelling, running away, and running into someone had him quite spent. His whole body agreed that a nap was very much in order. It wouldn’t hurt. He’d certainly feel much better if he had one. Best of all, he knew Nathalie would not be interrupting him anytime soon. His eyes acceded to the idea of rest and got a head start, allowing his eyelids to droop down. He adjusted his position on the couch, clutching the spare pillow close to him like a child would clutch their plush toy.

Not that he had any.

His father had thrown them all away years ago.

“All they do is gather up dust,” he recalled his father say.

Adrien remembered being a snivelling mess that day. His plush toys had meant a lot to him; they were gifts from his mother. After losing her, the boy had clung to those toys as a last lifeline to the woman. Then his father went and decided he didn’t “need” the plush toys anymore, and the rest was history. His fingers dug into the pillow as he reminisced. “You know what’s best for me….” He muttered almost bitterly. His brows knit together in frustration and he all but buried his face into the soft fabric of the pillow.

But then he heard a thump.

Sitting up, he found a small black box before him. It sat there innocently atop the table, as if it had always been there. Adrien eyed it suspiciously. He waited a moment. Perhaps it would move again, he thought. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. He was already fidgeting by the three minute mark.

“Okay, you know what? Fine!” Adrien said, grabbing the box.

As soon as he held it, the cover snapped open and he almost dropped the darn thing in surprise. “It’s…” he peered into the box’s contents. “It’s a ring?” It was quite plain in design. Made of some kind of black metal, there were no intricate engravings along its band, no gem set anywhere. Its prongs held onto a circular mounting occupied by a green paw print – he couldn’t tell if it was painted on or some sort of gem.  

Then it started glowing green.

_Wait. What?_

Adrien turned away as a blinding ray of light engulfed the room. He could feel the intensity of it even behind his eyelids. He wouldn’t doubt that he’d have gone blind if he hadn’t looked away. The light lingered for a few seconds, and then, with a low hum, dulled out. Adrien gave a safe ten seconds wait time before he opened his eyes again, but instead of seeing the ring, he came face to face with a pair of intense eyes, narrowed into slits and staring right at him. Adrien jerked back with a gasp and right into the cushions of his couch. He stared at the creature before him, a mix of shock and awe in his gaze. It seemed to be some kind of black cat, only tinier, like a mouse; it was also floating in the air like nobody’s business. It was so ridiculously out of proportion. How could such a large head be supported by a tiny body? The creature reminded him of a bobble-head doll.

Adrien would have laughed were he not so confused.

“Hmph!” the creature suddenly spoke, “So this is who I’m serving? A scrawny cheese stick?”

It let out a long, loud yawn and stretched before speaking again. “The name’s Plagg. Nice to meet you.” Its voice was so similar to those noble lords he saw in television dramas – pompously confident, yet lazily uninterested. For a second time, Adrien had to keep himself from laughing. “U-um, hello.” The boy said, uncertain.

Plagg smirked at him. “Say, I’m starving. You have anything to eat, kid?”

“I.. guess I could get something from the kitchen. The name is Adrien by the way. Are you some kind of genie?” He saw a snarl form on the tiny creature’s lips.

“A genie? Pssh. I’m way better than those guys.” Plagg zipped up to him in a flash of black, perching lightly on his right arm. That’s when Adrien noticed the ring the creature was holding. It had changed appearance, taking on the form of a plain silver ring. The creature quickly slipped it onto his ring finger and gave it a tap.

“See this? This is a magical ring that grants whoever wears it powers – _my_ powers.”

With a swish of his paw, Plagg polished the ring to a shine. “I’m a Kwami, you see, and my powers of destruction are now yours to use.”

“Powers of destruction?” Adrien echoed.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “I’m giving you the chance to become a superhero, kid. What more is there to understand?”

Adrien was drowning in the sea of questions overflowing in his mind, all of which were called for considering the ludicrousness of the whole situation. When and how did the black box get in his room? How could something like Plagg exist? Why was he, of all people chosen to receive superpowers and – _hold on a minute_ – he was getting superpowers?! Like the main characters in his favorite action animes?! This had to be a dream, some kind of joke his dad was pulling on him.

_No, father doesn’t have a sense of humor…_

Which only meant one thing: this was legitimately happening.

“I’m going to be a superhero.” Adrien let out a breath.

Plagg nodded. “Bingo, kid. There’s a bunch evil monsters – called Akuma – who’d want nothing more than to make humanity suffer. There’s actually one wreaking havoc in this city right now.”

The Kwami pointed at the television, smirking as the regular broadcast was interrupted with urgent news. “Right on cue.”

“ ** _Unbelievable as it may be, it seems a super villain is spreading terror in Paris_.** ”

Adrien looked at the video being broadcasted, depicting a man as tall as a lamp post skulk around the streets. The man’s limbs were twig-thin and covered in a robe that seemed to be made up of photos, exposing only his face and hands, which were colored a sickly gray. His eyes were hidden by a pair of round shades, which made all who looked upon him focus on his twisted smile of fangs.

His voice was cracked and high-pitched. “ ** _No, no, no! You’re running away all wrong!_ This _is how you do it!_** ” Adrien paled at the sight of citizens being captured by the flash of the villain’s shades. They screamed in terror before they were transformed into creatures that looked similar to the villain.

“That’s an akuma?” he turned to Plagg worriedly.

The Kwami nodded. “Apparently. It doesn’t feel quite _right_ , but I know an akuma when I sense one.” Floating up to his face, Plagg stared him down. “Let me be brief. I can transform you into a superhero. In that form, you’re given a special power called ‘Cataclysm’ which allows you to destroy anything and everything you touch. I know this is a lot to take in, but that super villain’s not going to wait around and let me tell you everything. Now let’s go!”

“B-but..” Adrien looked down at the floor. “I can’t even leave my house! There’s no way I can escape without Nathalie or the guards catching me!”

Plagg’s growled. “You wanna be a caged cat? Fine, but I’m giving you the chance to change that. You can be a hero, kid. If you want to be, of course.”

Adrien met the Kwami’s eyes in surprise. “I’ll be a real hero…” he muttered softly.

“All you have to do is say “Transform me!” or something like that and you’ll get to defeat a _real_ bad guy.” Plagg grinned slyly.

 He felt his blood rushing through him; his heart was pounding fast. “What if he’s too strong for me?” his voice failed to hide his excitement.

“That’s where your partner comes in. Any wielder of my Cat Miraculous always gets the Ladybug wielder as their partner. We’re sort of like a set, kid.”

 _There’ll be someone else to fight with me_? This was sounding more and more like a dream come true. He was going to be an actual superhero, complete with a partner and a bad guy to beat. “What are they like?” he said. Plagg scoffed. “Heck if I know. You’ll have to go see them yourself.”

The cat kwami flew to his ring once more and patted it. “Well?” the Kwami tilted his head, expression evenly expecting. Adrien’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. All his doubts seemed to fly right out the window as he nodded, heart lighter than ever before and smiling brightly.

“Plagg, Transform me!”

 

* * *

 

The transformation had taken but a moment, leaving her clad in a red skin-tight bodysuit with a black collar. Covered in black spots, the suit seemed to be made of a fabric unknown to her, but it felt cool on her skin, and she could breathe in it. A matching mask covered her eyes, held together by some invisible force – how else could a mask stay on her face without a strap?

Marinette’s first reaction to the suit had been pure embarrassment. “W-w-what is with this suit?!” she flushed a deep scarlet, quickly grabbing a cushion and covering as much as she could. “This…this doesn’t hide anything!” she saw Baxter staring at her, and her face deepened in color. “Don’t stare, Baxter! It’s rude! Look away!” she cried.

Baxter hesitated. “Biscuit, it’s not that bad. Skin-tight clothing is pretty popular these days-”

“Baxter Dupain, you turn around now or I promise I’ll never speak to you again!” Marinette hissed.

The brunette sighed, but turned around nonetheless.

“Trust me, Biscuit, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. If it helps, your suit looks great on you.” Baxter said, placating.

“I feel exposed.”

Baxter chuckled at that. “That akuma’s not going to stop itself, Biscuit. Better get over it and get to it.”

Despite her discomfort, she knew he was right. “Fine.”

She could mourn the fashion trends of the current generation later.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she took off to her room. Her rooftop balcony would be a good place to exit from. “I’m off!” she shouted.

“Good luck!” came Baxter’s reply.

Before she knew it, she was standing atop the railings of the roof. She stood perfectly balanced on the narrow strip of metal, a first for a klutz like her. She scanned the horizon for signs of her quarry. She found what she needed in less than a minute, spotting trails of smoke a few blocks away.

“Okay,” Marinette took a deep breath and unclasped the red yoyo from its string belt and held it firmly. “You can do this. You can do this.”

She reeled her hand back. Her target was the far-off gargoyle on Notre Dame. She threw the yoyo with all the strength she had, watching as the tool zoomed like a bullet through the air. It met its target spot-on (did she just make a pun?) and wrapped around the statue’s body with a clink. Now came the hard part.

“It’s fine, Marinette. You’re not going to fall, you’re not going to crash, and you’re not going to shatter into a million pieces.” She muttered to herself to keep the growing unease in her chest from worsening.

It wasn’t as if she was terrified of heights. She just didn’t like the idea of falling to the ground – bad experiences and whatnot. Just the thought of colliding with the ground at this altitude sent shivers down her spine. She sucked in a gulp of air, closed her eyes, and pulled on her yoyo.

The reaction was instant. The wire tightened and reeled her in ferociously, ripping a small scream from her as her body was catapulted off the balcony. The bluenette held onto the wire with a vice-like grip. It took every bit of mental strength to get her eyes to open, so that she’d know where she was heading and not just crash into something – which would probably be equally painful to go through as falling.

She could feel her heartbeat drumming loudly up her throat as the imposing figure of Notre Dame grew rapidly nearer. _Steady, girl. You have to time this right._ When she was but a foot away from hitting stone, she twisted her body left, flinging herself upwards, higher and higher, till she landed precariously atop the transept spire. Being at the highest point, she tried to find her bearings.

“The smoke is over…that way,” She pointed east. “All right. Let’s do this again.”

She recalled her yoyo with another jerk, and it flew straight into her waiting palm. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.” She allowed herself to smile in victory. She didn’t get herself killed. This was already one hundred times better than she expected. If Tikki was around, she was sure the Kwami would be congratulating her. _It’s too bad I can’t communicate with her when she transforms with me_.

 She flung her yoyo towards a rooftop and leaped from her perch. She arched her way down in a loud swoop. With the initial fear dissipating, Marinette got the chance to really get a feel of swinging from rooftop to rooftop. The exhilaration of closing such impossible distances with little effort astonished her. Her wildest dreams seemed tame compared to the real thing. Decades ago she could only imagine moving and running and jumping, pretending along with Bernard’s children in their make-believe plays.

Now she was living it.

Her heart was thumping again, but for a very different reason this time.

She had cried when she first became human, but now, now she wanted to sing in joy.

Oh, how the winds scratched against her! How they parted for her as she sliced through the air like a red blade! The world bent to her motion, reacted to her actions. A smile grew on the bluenette’s face with every swing of her yoyo. Marinette had never, not in her entire existence, felt so much freedom and energy and _power_ course through her. “This is incredible.” She whispered in rapture. She felt like she could do anything in the world.

She could make a difference.

Now the akuma was in her sights. Down below a building, the villain creeped along on its spindly legs, followed by dozens of zombie-like look-a-likes. Silently she landed on the roof above it, crawling onto the ledge to get a peek. “Every akuma has a weak point. They always hide in something important to the victim..” she recalled Tikki’s words from a previous lesson. She had to find the object and destroy it, thereby releasing the akuma spirit for purification.

 _Problem is_ , she frowned, _its cloak hides too much_. It wasn’t the sunglasses, definitely not. It was too out in the open. Akumas always hid their possessed object. “I need to get that cloak off of him…but how?” she muttered.

“LOOK OUT!!”

Startled by the shout, Marinette turned around in time to see a mass of black hurtling towards her. It turned out to be a guy upon further inspection. He was wearing a black bodysuit like her, so he was most probably her long-awaited partner. He was also heading straight for her, which would be disastrous. She took a side step and quickly grabbed her yoyo to fling it at the guy; its wire quickly wrapped him up. “There you go-” The guy flew right past her, dragging the yoyo along with him. She felt the wire jerk and she too ended up flying across several buildings with him. The wire eventually snagged on a street lamp, causing them to spin around the pole like tetherballs till they collided with a painful crash.

The bluenette felt her head throbbing in pain – specifically her forehead.

Now she had a sore back _and_ forehead to bother her.

“Uh, hi! I’m guessing you’re my partner?” she heard the guy laugh nervously.

She sighed. “It seems so.”

“All things considered, I’m glad I _dropped_ by, huh?”

She wanted to smack him on the backside of his head. A pun? Really? It was only the wire binding them together that prevented her from doing so. “Let me just…” She twisted her hand and pulled at the wire again, causing it to reel back to her and unravel around them. They both landed on the ground safely, grateful that the ordeal was done with. This gave Marinette the opportunity to take a better look at her newfound partner. He was a slim little thing, much too slender for someone who was obviously male. He carried himself tall however, and he beat her in height by some inches. There was a confidence in his gleaming eyes of green, one that matched his friendly smirk and wild blonde locks.

His bodysuit seemed to be made of some sort of leather, but it also shone with the material of her own outfit. The cat ears and belt tail suited the Cat Miraculous’ theme, she admitted, noting the attention to detail with the claws on the guy’s gloves. The golden bell that dangled on his neck might have been a touch on the nose – and was it actually a zipper? She traced the zipper line all the way to its end, right below the waist.

And she thought _her_ suit was risqué.

“Thanks for saving my tail back there,” the guy smiled. “I’m…I’m Chat Noir! Nice to meet you!”

He extended his hand to her, and she shook it gently. “I’m Ladybug. It’s nice to finally meet my partner.”

The sounds of screaming pulled them from their moment of relief. The akuma was still causing havoc; time was of the essence. “Come on! The longer we take to defeat him, the more victims he’ll claim!” She threw her yoyo at a chimney and leaped, zipping up to the roof top in seconds. She spared her partner but a glance.

“Let’s go, Chat Noir!”

 

* * *

 

Adrien had felt a rush of adrenaline consume him after his transformation, pulling him into a frenzy to search for a way out. A single window opened was his escape, and he was only half-conscious as he scaled up his rock climbing wall to reach it. Strength in his legs he didn’t have before propelled him forwards, out onto the window’s metal linings.

Before he knew it, he was jumping over rooftops, springing here and there with all the grace of a cat. All the blood in him rushed about, aiding in each powerful leap over the distances he closed. His elation was near indescribable, truly, but he found the words for it eventually.

“This is amazing!”

His laugh was lost to the winds as he ran wild across the building tops. He was actually out and about, and unrestricted, and free from his mansion. “I can’t believe I’m actually a superhero! I-” As he landed onto a roof, a piercing shriek broke him from his trance. The shock made him stumble, and he rolled across the concrete before digging his clawed gloves into the ground for a screeching halt.

“W-what was that?” he said, pulling himself up.

That was when he remembered.

_The akuma. I still have to fight the akuma._

He face-palmed himself with a resounding slap. “Gah, right! Rookie mistake!”

_My cartoon idols would be ashamed of me…_

It was time to get serious.

Looking at his outfit (leather, was it? Not exactly his first choice, but he looked quite good in it!), he found a silver baton staff attached to the back of his belt. “So, you’re my weapon, huh?” It seemed no longer than an average ruler, gleaming a bright silver with a green paw print on its surface. He shook it gently.

“Come on. Work. Um, do something.” The staff did nothing.

Adrien looked at it thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re some kind of semi-sentient tool that reacts to what I need?”

He looked at the neighboring building. “Well, only one way to find out!”

He gripped the staff tightly and took a couple steps back.

One.

Two.

“Three!” He charged off the ledge, extending the staff forward and towards the next building. To his delight, the weapon extended in length, easily latching to the floor of the rooftop with a clink. “It worked!” he grinned. “Good call, me!”

His small triumph was short lived, unfortunately. Due to his inexperience with his weapon – this was his _first time_ , really – he did not know how to stop his baton from growing. He went higher into the sky, carried by the momentum of his jump, before he was flung forward like a vault-jumper in the Olympics.

Adrien would never admit he had screamed as he flew out of control through the air, but he totally did.

The world rushed by him faster than he would have liked, and now actual distress was mingled with his excitement. On the bright side, it seemed he was flung in the right direction. He could see trails of smoke drawing nearer to him – a classical beacon of where trouble was. He’d probably meet the targeted akuma sooner than he’d like.

Of course, he’d need to land first.

That’s when he saw a red figure crouched on one of the building roofs. “H-hey, look out!” he shouted.

The figure turned to him, eyes sharing the shock his own had, and then the stranger surprised him by taking out a yoyo.

It was flung at him with remarkable accuracy and quickly wrapped around his body. Was this stranger trying to save him? _Wait a minute. Is this guy my partner?_ He didn’t get the chance to ask though, as he flew past the stranger and right over to the next building.

And then the next.

And then the next.

He could tell by the tautness of the wire that his partner had been unfortunately dragged along with him. Adrien made a mental note to apologize as soon as they landed. He didn’t even wait a minute though. A lamp post had been so kind enough to be at the right place, and it stopped them mid-air, causing them to spin around its metal pole before crashing into each other.

The collision was unbelievably painful.

Another groan escaped his lips. “Oww…” he grumbled softly.

Though disoriented, he quickly tried to shake off the dizziness. That’s when he realized that he and his partner were tangled together by the yoyo wire. As he stared at the red-clad, spotted figure, he noticed something else:

His partner was a girl.

_Woah. Not expecting that._

Her hair was dark blue (almost black in a way), kept together by crimson ribbons in pigtails. They framed the pair of bluebell eyes that stared at him with an intimidating intensity, narrowed in well-deserved annoyance. For some reason, he felt a sense of déjà vu pass him by, as if this had happened before. It was a ridiculous notion, seeing how this was their first meeting.

And what an impression he seemed to have made.

He tried to diffuse the tension with a pun.

The scowl the girl shot him was enough to stop him right in his tracks.

After that, however, things went a bit smoother. There was a brief introduction exchanged between the two of them. He told her he was called Chat Noir, she told him she was Ladybug. _They fit perfectly with our Miraculouses_ , he thought happily. It was just like in the hero mangas he’d read; superheroes always had suitable names.

He wished they could have talked a bit longer (he wasn’t nearly done apologizing for his lack of skill) but the screams of terrified citizens reminded them why they were here. They still had an evil villain to defeat! Adrien watched, impressed, as Ladybug gracefully maneuvered up to the rooftops. His partner seemed right at home in her superhero skin.

“Let’s go, Chat Noir!” She didn’t wait for his response and promptly went ahead.

Smirking to himself, he ran after her with a high leap. His baton extended out once more and gave him the extra push to make it to the rooftop. Ladybug was several feet ahead of him. A cheeky grin curved on his maw. “She’s fast, but she’s no Chat Noir.” He crouched low, bunching the muscles in his legs together before taking off with a burst.

He caught up with her in a measly two leaps, and now they raced together in sync.

It was amazing how quickly she went along with his pace.

All it took was a look at him and Ladybug immediately adjusted.

“So,” he leaped with her across a rooftop. “What’s the plan, Ladybug?”

“We have to get that akuma’s robe off of him! The spirit is probably hiding in something underneath it!” Confusion painted his face.

“What do you mean? What spirit?” Her blue eyes fell on him once more.

“The akuma spirit! The essence of evil that makes akumas! Didn’t your kwami tell you that?” He shook his head, honestly dumbfounded.

All Plagg had told him was that he’d be a superhero and fight bad guys.

In hindsight, he should have asked more questions.

Then again, his kwami didn’t really give him the opportunity to.

“I was kind of rushed into this whole thing a few minutes ago,” he confessed, his cheeks tinted in the faintest red.

Ladybug considered him quietly, saying nothing for a few seconds. “We’re both new at this, so don’t worry,” she eventually said. “I’ll help you.” He smiled at her, grateful for the encouragement, and followed as they drew close to the akuma. He snuck a look at her. Ladybug was so composed despite everything that was happening. It was as if she had done this countless times before, although it was most likely not the case. Was this what a real superhero looked like? In his eyes, she certainly resembled all his heroes from his comic books.

He felt his chest tighten in excitement.

No. He was a superhero now, too.

He had power to wield against the forces of evil.

He was going to save Paris with his partner.

The doubts inside him were pushed aside by his newfound determination. They were going to stop the akuma, and restore peace to the city. “There he is!” Ladybug pointed to the street underneath them. “Watch out!” He jumped aside, narrowly avoiding a torrent of photographs that rushed by and embedded deep into a building wall. They landed on the rooftop of the next building, both of them warily eyeing the villain down below.

“ ** _Ah! You must be the heroes, come to stop me!_** ” The akuma’s screechy voice cackled. “ ** _My, aren’t you two just adorable in those outfits? You just_ have _to let me take a picture of you!_** ” Adrien grunted as the Akuma’s robe stretched out for him. He batted it away with his baton, and hopped to a windowsill. “Sorry! I don’t feel very photogenic right now!” he shouted at the villain.

“ ** _I can fix that! I, Picturesque, can make anyone look good in a photo!  Let me just prep you up!_** ”

Adrien braced himself as the akuma’s shades gathered in light. “ ** _Say “Cheese!”, hero!_** ” Picturesque sneered. That’s when a flash of red leapt from behind the villain. “Cheese!” Ladybug cried, grabbing the photograph robe away as she swung past. An unearthly scream came out of Picturesque’s mouth as he stumbled to the ground.

“ ** _You horrible, wretched insect! You dare ruin my photo shoot!?_** ” Ladybug narrowly dodged a beam of light aimed for her head, nimbly swinging away with her yoyo. Beam after beam rapidly fired after the elusive heroine, all missing her by a hair’s width. Adrien sat in awe for a moment in sight of such skill. A part of him wished he could just watch her take the villain down herself.

He reacted instantly upon hearing his partner say, “Chat! Look for the possessed object!”, and sprang downwards, towards Picturesque. His keen sight searched over the bony man’s figure. A camera dangled haphazardly on the villain’s neck. “There!” he grinned. He made a grab for the item, and almost had it in his reach, but he felt something pull his belt tail violently, and was sent crashing to the ground with a loud thud. “Wh-what the-?” He looked up to see Pictureque’s mindless lookalikes growling at him. One of them had his tail held firmly in its hand, preventing him from getting away.

“Hey, let me go!” he hissed indignantly and fought back those who drew too close with his baton. His attack didn’t do much to stop his attackers. They drew back as soon as he swatted them away. He felt a bead of sweat drip down his face as their sunglasses glinted in warning. They were going to shoot him to ashes.

His eyes searched frantically for a way out. There was no way he was going to turn to Chat dust on his first mission! He’d never forgive himself for such incompetence! Something around him had to be able to help him out.

And then he saw it.

Dangling above him was the tarp of a café. It was large enough to cover all the lookalikes surrounding him. “It’s worth a shot!” He swung his baton forward and watched as it extended long enough and knocked the tarp off its poles. The lookalikes screamed as the fabric smothered them under its weight. Adrien took the opportunity to free his tail, and sneakily made his way out of the writhing mass of tarp. That was when he caught sight of Picturesque. The villain was still busy trying to annihilate Ladybug, leaving his back wide open. From where he was, Adrien could see the strap of the camera on the man’s neck.

He crouched down on all fours before springing at Picturesque with such force that the tall villain stumbled, crashing to the ground in a fit of screams as he climbed up the man’s back and plucked the camera right off.

“Got it!” he grinned happily.

He extended his baton at the ground, pole-vaulting his way safely to a far-off car roof. His partner landed next to him.

“Great job, Chat!” her smile made him swell with pride.

“No problem, Ladybug!” he chuckled, “Now to break this little thing and-”

A beam of light shot right into the car, bursting it into fiery chunks of metal and glass.

Adrien felt a sharp pain in his chest as a car door slammed into him. He was thrown back into a wall with a crash. Just as he tried to get up, the back half of the car smashed into him. It was only by using the door as a shield that he managed to avoid being impaled by the burning metal. His whole body ached though. Dozens of small cuts and scratches decorated his face. A particularly deep one on his cheek oozed a trickle of blood. 

Worst of all, he was trapped.

He tried to look for a way out, but the smoke and fire blocked his vision and muddled his senses.

“Ladybug?!” he called out. “Ladybug, are you okay?!”

He had seen her being thrown away by the blast, followed by the front half of the car.

“Please be all right…” he said, grunting as an ember whizzed past him.

 

* * *

 

The explosion sent her flying ten meters away, repeatedly crashing into the hard concrete as she rolled with the force. Marinette desperately tried to stop herself. Her fingers clawed at the ground in an attempt to slow down, only to wince when the friction burned her skin. It was only the strength of her fabric that prevented her from being completely torn up. Pain danced through her body like a violent party. She had never known pain to be so intense. Her worst pain had only ever been during her first bath, when she had scalded her skin. As her head collided with the ground for the umpteenth time, she felt she could laugh at that memory now.

Eventually her body skidded to a halt, and the bluenette felt every part of her scream from the abuse of the ground. Her arms trembled as she tried to sit up.

That’s when she saw the car flying right at her.

In what could have only been Ladybug’s luck, her arms gave in and she fell back down; the car missed her head by just two seconds as it soared over her. It crashed a few meters away before exploding with a roar of fire.

“Oh, heavens…” she gasped. That could have been her. She would have been trapped under that pile of metal and burned to an ashy crisp.

A freezing chill ran down her spine.

She almost died.

Her limbs felt weak from the realization, causing her to tremble as she staggered back on her feet. Her breaths came out in choppy gasps. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she felt it would leap from her throat. The doll in her was shaking like a leaf. Had she been made of porcelain still, she would have been all but dusty pieces. It was only the pain in her body that kept her from fleeing like a frightened child. It was hard for her to move at all.

“N-no. I can’t run away now…” she said weakly.

She knew what she was getting into when she accepted Fu’s offer. She knew there would be danger. Getting injured in battles was only part and parcel to the whole thing. But gods, was this pain terrible. Marinette had no experience with it, and therefore hadn’t the slightest idea of how to handle it. She couldn’t make it go away. It clung viciously to her body, making her wince and hiss every time she moved.

Her jaw clenched tightly as she wrenched herself from her spot, starting a run towards Picturesque for a second round of fighting. Every step was excruciating but she pushed back her screams deep inside her.

The villain was waiting for her. His face bore a scornful sneer, showcasing the row of jagged teeth that looked ready to tear her apart. In his hand lay the camera. He waved it at her tauntingly. “ ** _Oh, I hate it when people interrupt my photo shoots!_** ” he said in a half laugh, half snarl. The sound was disturbingly akin to a feral beast. He pointed a bony finger at her and crooked it towards himself. “ ** _Tell you what, if you hand over your Miraculous, then I’ll fix you and your partner right up. I’ll even take a nice picture of you two._** ”

“As if I’d ever do a thing like that!” Marinette huffed.

“ ** _Is that so? Well, I suppose you won’t mind having your partner roasted alive back there then._** ” Picturesque pointed to a burning car wreck behind him. A dozen or so of his lookalikes surrounded it in a sort of makeshift barrier. Marinette’s eyes went wide. “Chat…?” From where she was, she could just barely make out his figure squirming underneath the burning vehicle. She stifled a gasp. “No!” she shouted and made a run for him.

“ ** _Not so fast!_** ” Picturesque laughed, sending a beam of light right at her.

Marinette wasn’t fast enough to dodge this time and was squarely hit on the shoulder. Though her costume took most of the damage, she was still thrown back from the hit, and stumbled to the ground with a grunt. Her mind pounded in agony as she stumbled back up. She wouldn’t make it to Chat in time. If Picturesque’s light beams didn’t get her, then his lookalikes would surely stall her. There had to be another way. There had to be something she could do. “If only I had a power that could-”

An idea struck her like a bolt from the blue.

“Chat!” she called her partner. “Chat, if you can hear me, use your Cataclysm! Use it on the car!” She dove away from another light beam sent by the akuma.

“But I can only use my power once! What if I need it for later?!” she heard his voice grunt.

The guy was being cooked alive in there and he was still hesitating? _Good grief!_ “You need to use your powers _now_ , Chat! Do it!” Marinette shouted.

She turned towards Picturesque and glared at him. “For a photographer, you’re pretty lousy at timing your shots!” she spat. She needed to keep the villain occupied, buy Chat time to escape. “No wonder you could only get me once!” she forced a laugh.

Picturesque’s face turned a deep red as he growled at her. “ ** _I can hit you any time I want, little insect!_** ” he threw beam after beam of light at her. Fighting back the terrible pain in her limbs, Marinette leapt away from each shot. She took out her yoyo and threw it at a street lamp. “Sure you can!” her voice oozed with sarcasm, and she laughed as she dodged another light beam. She sat lightly atop the lamp pole. “That’s seven shots and zero hits, Picturesque.” She shrugged at him. “Are you even trying?”

The akuma shrieked in frustration, stamping his feet at the ground and waving his bony fists at her. “ ** _Ooh, I’m going to mangle you so badly that no one will recognize the picture I take of you!!_** ” Picturesque cried.

“Why don’t you take a picture of this?” Chat’s voice resounded.

Marinette watched as her partner launched the burning car piece at the akuma, his fists coated in a bubbly black light. Chat’s Cataclysm spread through the car instantly and, as it neared Picturesque, exploded with a deafening blast. She gripped tightly on the lamp pole when the shock waves hit her. So this was the power of the Cat Miraculous. The power to destroy any and everything was terrifying. The Cataclysm had completely consumed the car in seconds before it made it explode.

“Chat, get the camera!” she shouted through the dusty smoke.

 

* * *

 

Adrien heard his partner and turned to where he had thrown the car. His eyes narrowed, focusing, peering through the dust that obscured everything in sight. He could make out the shape of Picturesque hobbling unsteadily from the blast. Adrien tensed up in his spot, bunching strength to his legs again, and leaped at the villain with an outstretched claw. “Gotcha!” he cried as he swiped at the akuma. His triumphant grin morphed into confusion as he phased through “Picturesque”. He quickly flipped over and landed on his feet. What he saw had been an illusion. “B-but where did he-” His voice got caught as a bony hand clamped tightly round his throat.

“ ** _Gotcha!_** ” Picturesque mockingly mimicked.

Adrien vainly flailed in the akuma’s vice grip. His claws scratched furiously at the hand that held him, but Picturesque did not even flinch. He saw the akuma’s shades flicker with light. “ ** _Well, cats have always been more popular than bugs. Guess I’ll take your picture first._** ” Picturesque sneered at him.

Adrien felt the hairs on his nape stand up. This guy was so much creepier up close and personal. His hand blindly grabbed his baton. “S-sorry, but I’ll pass on that…” he managed to say. His baton extended and crashed painfully against the akuma’s chest. Picturesque cried in pain, releasing Adrien from his grasp, before being thrown backwards by his extending baton. The blonde quickly retracted his weapon back before extending it once more and spun it quickly above his head. The clouds of dust and smoke were blown away by the force and cleared the streets of it entirely.

Ladybug rushed past him then, her body a blur as she ran towards Picturesqe. Her yoyo struck harshly against the akuma, staggering him as she lunged. Her hands made a grab for the camera but Picturesque grunted out of the way. He shot a flash of light at Ladybug, missing only by an inch as the red-clad heroine swerved away.

Adrien quickly joined in the pursuit. He leaped at Picturesque and tried to get the camera, only to have the akuma bat him away with bony limbs. “ ** _Paws off my camera, cat!_** ” Picturesque snarled.

Both Chat Noir and Ladybug teamed together in an effort to grab the camera. When one failed to take it, the other jumped in for their chance. When Adrien was thrown back, Ladybug would leap into action. When she was thrown back, he would tackle the akuma.

Relentlessly they assaulted Picturesque, who amazingly kept the duo at bay with wild swings and shots of flashing light.

Adrien readied himself for his next attempt when he noticed that his ring was flashing and beeping. He took a moment to look at it. “What’s happening?” he said, noticing that the four toe beans on the green paw print had been reduced to three. Ladybug grimaced at him. “You used your power, so now you only have five minutes before changing back. Your Miraculous helps keep track of those minutes.” she gritted.

“We have till then to defeat Picturesque.” Adrien paled.

Ladybug nodded. “I guess now’s a good a time as any. Distract him for me. I’m going to use my power.”

“You got it.” he grinned, gently tapping his partner on the shoulder. Ladybug winced at the contact, jerking away as if he had burned her. “S-sorry. I’m a bit sore…all over.” She managed a small smile despite her obvious discomfort.

Adrien bit back his frown and ran back to Picturesque. “She looks exhausted,” he muttered under his breath. He dodged a beam of light shot by the akuma and leaped over him, vainly trying to grab at the camera. Picturesque swung an arm at him then, which connected to his shoulder painfully. Adrien withheld a pained cry as he was thrown back. It was only his cat instincts that made him land on his feet instead of his face. “Is that all you can manage? Pretty weak if you ask me,” he grinned defiantly.

He dodged another beam of light just as another paw bean disappeared from his ring.

They had to end this fast.

 

* * *

 

Marinette threw her yoyo in the air, shouting the words Tikki had taught her months before. “Go, Lucky Charm!” Her yoyo was quickly wrapped by a bright light, its silhouette morphing inside briefly before bursting the light into a new item. Marinette quickly caught the item in her hand. Her brows furrowed in confusion. “You gave me... a fire extinguisher?”

And a spotted one at that.

Her mind, aching from all the pain in her body, tried to make sense of her new tool.

This extinguisher was the key to victory, but only if she could figure out how.

“Umm…” Her blue eyes looked at Picturesque, who was preoccupied with Chat Noir’s taunts and japes.

The akuma was shooting a torrent of light beams at her partner. “ ** _Stop moving and just pose for me!_** ” Picturesque shouted.

Chat Noir rolled his eyes. “And let you turn me into cat barbecue? No thanks!” he said and dodged another beam of light. Picturesque growled in frustration.

That’s when it clicked together in her head.

She waved at Chat Noir. “Chat Noir!”

The blonde hero turned to her, seeing the extinguisher in her hand, and nodded in understanding. “You know what? I’m kind of bored dodging your attacks,” he yawned at Picturesque. “I think I’ll look for a better photographer.” He scurried away from the akuma, whose face had turned scarlet.

“ ** _How dare you!!_** ” Picturesque bellowed.

Marinette hid the extinguisher behind her and pulled the pin out. She fought the painful dizziness that loomed in the back of her mind, putting on a brave face as Chat ran towards her, Picturesque charging right behind him. “Let him have it, Ladybug!” Chat grinned. As soon as her partner passed her, she raised the nozzle of the extinguisher and let loose a stream of foamy carbon, which splattered right on the akuma’s face. It covered the lens of Picturesque’s glasses, rendering him blind and unable to use his light beams. Marinette spun around once and launched the extinguisher smack into his head. Metal met flesh in a resounding thump, and the akuma fell back with a groan. Quickly she whipped out her yoyo and threw it at his neck, smiling as her weapon spun itself around the camera. She snapped it off with a fierce tug and swung it straight to the ground. Shards of metal, plastics and glass flew, breaking the camera into pieces. Then, with a small hiss, a small butterfly fluttered out of the rubble. Its black wings glowed purple and left a small trail of black dust as it tried to fly off. Marinette found herself eyeing the little thing.

This was an akuma spirit?

It wasn’t at all like Tikki had described.

Akuma spirits were supposed to be formless balls of dark energy that glowed green or purple. Why was this one a butterfly? Perhaps it was a rare variation? If so, Tikki would have told her, would have known about it. It caught her off-guard. She would have questioned it more, but a sharp pang in her head jumbled her thoughts. She gingerly rubbed her temples in a meek attempt to soothe it.

Despite its oddness, the butterfly akuma spirit did exactly as Tikki told her. Without a vessel to possess, all of its dark magic was released. Picturesque, along with his lookalikes, reverted back to their normal selves. The once lanky, towering akuma was now just a man. Gone were his claws and jagged teeth. She heard a gasp behind her and saw her partner gape at the man. “What is it?” she tilted her head. Chat had a frown on his face and pointed at the former akuma. “I know that man. I saw him a few hours ago.”

He turned his gaze to her. “Why was he turned into an akuma?”  

“My kwami told me that akuma spirits target hosts that hold a deep resentment of sorts. If it’s strong enough at the time, they’ll use it to their advantage.” she explained.

“Will…will he be okay>” Chat said.

Marinette let her gaze rest on the former akuma. Though he had a look of confusion on his face, and the smallest bruise on his chin, he was likewise unscathed. “He’ll be fine. A short possession won’t cause any permanent harm. He won’t even remember what happened.”

She caught Chat’s confused look and continued, “Akuma spirits take away their host’s memory of the possession for themselves. Don’t know why.”

And then she remembered.

She hadn’t purified the akuma spirit yet.

She jerked her head up, eyes searching for the black butterfly. Dread and guilt dropped on her like boulders when she couldn’t find it. “Oh no..” she gasped. Without a word to her partner, she threw her yoyo at a lamp post and pulled herself up to a building roof.

“Woah! Wait for me!” Chat’s protest fell on deaf ears.

She frantically looked around her.    

Panic mixed with the pain she was feeling. Everything was buzzing around her, blurring into vague shapes as she tried to find the akuma spirit once more. Her heartbeat was loud and sprinting, and it made her chest tighten. She found it harder to breathe. Her breaths were coming out choppy and broken.

Where was it?

Where did the akuma spirit go?

How could she have let it get away?

Tikki would be disappointed in her. Baxter would be disappointed in her. Master Fu would be disappointed in her. She was so lost in her desperate search that she failed to see her partner land beside her. She practically jumped when he called out to her.

“Ladybug,” he said, voice laced in worry.

Hesitantly, she turned to look at him. It took effort to focus on him. Everything was still so blurry. After a few seconds, his face became clearer to her. There was concern in his bright green eyes. He gently place his hands on her shoulder. His gaze captured hers in place. “Just take deep breaths. Slow and steady. Don’t let this get to you.” his steady voice snapped her out of her frightened stupor.

She clenched a hand around one of his arms. Trembling, she tried to steady her breathing.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

Tendrils of pain coursed through her muscles, but she tried to ignore them. Her throbbing heart began to slow, along with the pounding of her head. She grit her teeth as she fought back the stinging in her body. In and out her breaths went, slow and steady despite it all. Chat stood right by her, gently encouraging her. “That’s it, Ladybug. You’re doing good. Just keep a steady pace,” he said.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

When at last her breathing normalized, she weakly told him, “I let it escape.. The akuma spirit. It’s gone, Chat.”

Her partner’s eyes widened. She braced herself for a scolding from him, to hear him berate her for her failure, but instead he smiled sympathetically. Giving her shoulder the softest squeeze, he straightened up and winked at her playfully. “We’re both new at this, so don’t worry.” He beat a hand over his chest. “I’ll help you.”

Despite herself, Marinette smiled gratefully at her partner. Reusing her own words now, was he? Clever cat. She was grateful for his kindness. It lessened the guilt in her ever so slightly. It was still there, yes, but it wasn’t as suffocating anymore. “I suppose we can still try to find it. Akuma spirits don’t just disappear. It’s around here somewhere,” she said softly. Her eyes moved to the ring on Chat’s hand and frowned. Only one toe bean remained.

“We’ll have to find it another time though. We’re going to turn back into our civilian forms.” She straightened up and took his hand off her shoulder. “I think it’s better if we don’t know our identities. Security issues and whatnot.”

Chat nodded at her. “Yeah, I understand. Let’s meet up tomorrow. It might be hard for us to find it at night.” He looked out to the distance, and she followed him. The sky was darkening. Long had the sun lowered from its throne above, retired now at the bottom of the sky as the moon slowly took its place. The last golden-orange rays were fading, dominated by the dark blues of early evening. The fight had taken longer than they’d realized. They were so caught up in the fight, so absorbed in defeating Picturesque, that they had barely acknowledged the passing of time.

“I didn’t even notice the sunset,” she said.

Chat Noir ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. “We were too busy trying not to die. Don’t think _anyone_ would notice it with that happening to them.”

Her partner let out a small groan and stretched. He rotated his shoulder and gently, gingerly massaged his arms. “Man, that akuma did a number on me.” He touched the small cut on his face. “This won’t scar, will it?”

She shook her head. “Our powers will heal most injuries. Although,” At the mention of injuries, her own body seemed to protest at the abuse it had taken. The buzz in her threatened to return but she fiercely fought it back. “We’ll definitely be feeling sore tomorrow,” she continued with a sigh.

“Well that’s _super_.” Chat groaned.

“ _Fantastic_.” She chuckled dryly.

They broke into a laugh then. They were tired and drained (Marinette’s guilt was still gnawing at her, too) but they needed some levity. It had been their first time ever using their powers. Marinette was sure that neither of them ever had to deal with such dangerous enemies prior to this. She knew, despite their laughter, that they were both shaken from the experience.

Marinette knew that she had been terrified herself.

So they laughed to ease their nerves.

Chat was the first to stop laughing after a few moments. “Well, this cat’s got to scram, Ladybug. See you tomorrow.” He grinned at her and offered a salute before whipping out his baton. He leaped off the building with a small whoop and leaped away into the night. Her eyes lingered on his fading form until she could longer see him. She waited a few seconds before she too left for home.

Tossing a look below, she saw that the police had gathered at the scene of the battle. Several ambulances were there, too. Medics were all scrambling to tend to the victims, Picturesque included. They were all in a daze it seemed, and weren’t quite capable of answering the questions the flock of reporters were trying to throw at them. Some fire fighters were hosing down the fiery residue of the exploded car. Marinette winced. Had she caught the akuma spirit, she would have been able to use her other power, Miraculous Cleansing.

“ _Using the power from purified akuma spirits, this power lets you fix all the damage done during the fight. But it will only work if you’ve purified the akuma spirit._ ” Tikki’s words echoed in her mind.

Marinette looked away as her guilt built up again. She had to go home. It wouldn’t be long before her transformation wore off, and it would be safer if she was at home when it happened. Despite her superhero form softening most of the damage to her body, she knew she was in for a world of pain when she transformed back. Even now it was horrific to deal with. She swung her yoyo at a far-off building and zipped off to the bakery.

 

* * *

 

Adrien snuck his way back into his room just in time. Mid-jump he de-transformed and fell on the couch with a loud thud. “Oww!” he said. Plagg flew up to him. Feline eyes stared sleepily at him.

“Not too bad for your first try, kid.” The kwami let out a yawn and stretched in the air. “At least you didn’t get anyone killed.”

Adrien let himself sink into the couch. “But we let the akuma spirit get away….” he muttered. “I should have been paying more attention! I was too caught up with Florence being Picturesque, and then Ladybug almost had a panic attack because the akuma spirit was gone and…” He let out groan and took a pillow to hide his face under.

“Some partner I am.” Adrien grumbled.

He felt the kwami land on his shoulder. “Yup, and you should be happy about that.” Plagg meowed. “Sure you let the akuma spirit get away, but you could have just stood there dumbly and let your partner break down. You didn’t.” The kwami yawned and stretched himself across his shoulder.

“You calmed her down and cheered her up, kid. I’d say you did pretty well.” Plagg eventually said.

Adrien lifted the pillow off his face. He eyed his kwami hopefully. “I… I did.?” he asked.

Plagg let out a dry laugh. “Things would’ve been way worse if you didn’t calm her down. She’d have probably fainted or something. So yeah, you did good, no need to feel so bad, you’ll get it right next time. Blah blah blah.” The kwami swatted at his nose.

“Now give me some cheese.”

Adrien gaped at Plagg. “Pardon?”

“Cheese, kid! Kwami’s get tired from transforming so we eat certain things to recover. I need cheese. Camembert, if you have any.” Plagg said impatiently.

Adrien got up slowly. His muscles were indeed a bit sore from the fight. “I guess we have some cheese. Why Camembert though? That stuff is disgustingly smelly,” he asked Plagg.

The kwami rolled his eyes at him. “The smellier the cheese, the better the taste! Now go!” Plagg said dismissively.

The blond shook his head and went for the kitchen, leaving his kwami to roll about on the couch and rant about cheeses. His footsteps echoed as he went down the hallway again. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him as much as it did earlier. His mind was too busy remembering the fight with Picturesque to let the silence bother him this time. He relished in the memory.

It was hard to believe that this was all really happening.

He was a hero now.

He had super powers.

He had a superhero partner.

He had defeated an actual super villain.

By the time he reached the kitchen, he had a big grin on his face. Not even the awful smell of Camembert put him off his good mood as he cut a slice of the odorous cheese. “Can’t wait to meet Ladybug tomorrow,” he said to himself. “Next time we’ll catch that akuma spirit.” He placed the cheese on a small plate and headed back for his room.

His mind wandered to the animes he watched. He happily pondered over the possibility of using some of the moves anime characters had and incorporate it into his own fighting style. It would be awesome if he could do that. Perhaps, he thought, he’d watch a few episodes of some action animes. He’d write down the moves he’d like, and practice using them with Ladybug the next day. _This is going to be great! Maybe I could learn them with Ladybug. She’s probably a fast learner. She won’t have a problem learning some new attacks with me_. His grin widened at the prospect.

“Adrien?”

The boy froze at his father’s voice. He slowly turned around to meet the man’s gaze. “O-oh. Good evening, father. I was just…” he showed the cheese. “getting a small snack.”

Gabriel raised a brow. “Camembert? I thought you disliked it.”

Adrien bit back a retort. _Like you’d know_.

“I’ve actually grown to like its….unique taste. I was just getting a small piece before dinner,” he calmly explained.

His father stared at him for a moment. Adrien worried he wouldn’t buy his lie but visibly relaxed when Gabriel nodded. “Very well. Dinner will be in an hour. I won’t be joining you tonight. I have some matters to attend to.” And just like that his father left, off to his office to work for god knew how long. This wasn’t new though. His father rarely ever ate with him. He had protested when he was younger, but Gabriel didn’t so much as acknowledge him.

Adrien shook his head.

His dad wasn’t going to spoil his good mood tonight.

When he returned to his room, Plagg jumped with an uncharacteristically energetic smile. “Camembert! I smelled you coming, my sweet!” The kwami purred. He snagged the piece of the plate and floated to the table to gobble it up. “Mmm! Now this is food.” Plagg said between bites. Adrien chuckled at his kwami and settled down on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He was wondering which anime he’d watch first when he saw a familiar sight on the screen.

It was him.

And Ladybug.

Their forms were clearly visible on his widescreen. A video of them fighting Picturesque was being reported on the news.

“ ** _This video taken by a brave bystander shows two mysterious figures fending off the super villain._** ” The newswoman said. “ ** _It seems Paris has new guardians to protect it from harm._** ”

Adrien watched as the video showed Ladybug being thrown across the street by the exploding car. He flinched seeing his partner skid across the asphalt. _No wonder she was seemed so pained_. It was a feat in itself that she even stood up after that.

The video cut to him luring Picturesque to Ladybug’s trap.     

“ ** _Chat Noir!_** ” Ladybug called him.

It cut to him passing her by. “ ** _Let him have it, Ladybug!_** ”

The video promptly stopped after that, minimizing into the background as the newswoman smiled. “ ** _And so it’s thanks to this video that Parisians now know their saviors’ identity._** ”

After a few more words, the news cut to a live broadcast of Mayor Burgeouis. “ ** _It is my honor to announce that we will be organize a grand party to celebrate the new protectors of our fine city, Ladybug and Chat Noir. We hope that they will grace us with their presence when the time comes._** ”

Adrien beamed at the screen. Oh, they were _definitely_ going to that party. They had to. A public appearance would help foster faith in the citizens. If he and Ladybug were going to help keep Paris safe, the Parisians needed to feel safe under their watchful gazes. “Wow. News spread faster than I thought,” he said.

“They’ll have more news to report since you didn’t purify that akuma spirit.” Plagg said before biting down on the Camembert.

The kwami’s expression remained unbothered but his voice was serious and clear. “With that thing still loose, it’ll probably multiply and infect dozens of poor fools minding their own business.” Plagg said.

The grin on Adrien’s face turned into a deep frown. “Th-then I can just transform and find the akuma spirit now,” he offered.

Plagg shook his head. “No point. It’ll be easier to let it do as it wants and then purify it once it makes itself known. It won’t be long, I guess. The next time its previous victim feels strong negative emotions, it will transform him into Picturesque again. That’s when you’ll fight it.”

“And what about the others it infected?” Adrien said.

“The original Picturesque will control them like an army.” Plagg gulped down the last piece of cheese. “So, yeah, there’s that you’ll have to deal with.”

Adrien paced around his room. “I’ll be meeting Florence for a shoot tomorrow, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on him,” the blonde muttered. “If he gets possessed again, I’ll be right there to keep him from causing too much damage.” Yeah, that would work. The moment Florence turned back into an akuma, he’d be there.

He grabbed the remote, satisfied with his kind-of plan. There wasn’t any point in panicking. For one thing, Plagg would definitely not appreciate it. Secondly, there was little he could do if he couldn’t transform. Thirdly, if Plagg wasn’t too worried about this, neither should he, right? “Which anime should I watch first?” He scrolled through the library of series he had saved, eyeing each title as he passed through its contents.

“Hmm. Okay. This one.”

 

* * *

 

Marinette didn’t know how, but she managed to make her way back home. On trembling limbs, she pried open the small, circular window to her bedroom (thankfully it was unlocked) before collapsing onto the floor. She didn’t care that colliding with the ground made her brain spin, or that it sent new waves of pain rippling through her aching body. She let out a shuddering breath and released her transformation. Tikki was immediately by her side.

“Marinette!” Her kwami flittered over her frantically. “Where does it hurt?”

The bluenette managed to grunt, “Everywhere…”

Tikki mumbled about getting Baxter before zipping downstairs, the kwami’s tiny body phased through the floorboards with a faint glow. _That’s a good idea_. Baxter would be able to put her to bed. Maybe he’d have something to get rid of this pain, too. Without the protection of her superhero skin, the injuries she’d sustained in battle rushed back to her in the form of raw pain. Not a single scratch or bruise was left on her body but the pain remained.

And _mon dieu_ did she feel like keeling over from it.

It wasn’t enough that her head felt like splitting apart, no, her body made sure _every_ inch of her was in agony. Marinette whimpered softly. She didn’t know how to make it stop. She didn’t know why it wouldn’t stop. _Ladybug’s powers should have softened the blow, but why is it still so terrible_? She hissed when the pain began to pulsate, like some sick heartbeat delivering pain with every beat.

“Marinette!!” She heard Baxter’s voice echo from down below.

 _Not so loud_ , she thought miserably.

Even loud noises hurt.

She heard his footsteps thunder up the steps to her room. She forced an eye open, and watched as the door swung open to reveal Baxter, pale and grim-faced, and holding a bottle of water.

He was by her side in moments. “This will hurt, but bear with me. I have to put you in your bed.” His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned over her. Strong arms wrapped over her small frame. She winced and squeaked against the contact. Her body instinctively tried to move away from him, but Baxter was firm and picked her up amidst her thrashing. “Just hold on a bit.” Baxter said. He rushed up a small flight of stairs that led to her bed. Marinette did her best to hold up, crumpling the cloth of his shirt with a vice-like grip as the pain buzzed rabidly along her body.

“Hurry.” She pleaded.

“Just a few more steps,” Baxter assured.

When at last he released her and the soft blankets of her bed embraced her, Marinette let out a pained gasp. “Why?” She looked at Baxter and Tikki. “Why does it hurt so much?” Baxter tried to say something but Tikki beat him to it. The kwami floated up to the girl and gently, gingerly patted Marinette’s forehead.

“Your body isn’t used to physical injury.” Tikki explained. “Dolls don’t feel physical pain, right? Perhaps that’s why the pain is so intense. You’re not used to it.”

Marinette would have angrily cursed her doll quirks for yet again compromising her being human, but she could only scowl. “Can you make it go away?”

Baxter answered this time.

“I have some pain-killers. It will take a few minutes but it should numb the pain.” He took out a couple of small pills from his pocket to show her.

Ah, the wonders of modern medicine.

Bless human ingenuity.

“Here,” He carefully propped her up on a pillow, only earning a small hiss from her as he did. She took the pills from him and tossed it in her mouth. She washed it down with the water and then, with a sigh, reclined into the soft pillows. The cool water brought some relief to her. It was almost like it was extinguishing the hot pain in her head.

“Thank you, Baxter,” she hummed softly.

The baker smiled at her fondly. “You’re welcome.”

She turned to Tikki. “I’m sorry I let the akuma spirit escape. I don’t know why I-” she tried to apologize but the kwami shook her head.

“It was your very first time, Marinette. I don’t blame you.” Tikki smiled.

Marinette felt her chest tighten. She didn’t deserve so much mercy for her failure. “But now it’s going to multiply and transform innocent people into Picturesque copies…”

Tikki’s understanding gaze did not waver. “…and it will re-possess its original victim. Yes, that it true. But that also means you’ll get to purify it for real next time,” the kwami said.

Marinette closed her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to accept her failure so easily, not like Tikki could. Why wasn’t she being reprimanded? Wasn’t that more appropriate? She had failed, and oh so miserably at that, on her first mission. She didn’t care that it was her first time. She should have done better. She thought of Chat Noir and sighed.

He had only learned about Miraculouses and Akumas _today_ and he did way better than her.

She had an entire year to learn about her powers and enemies.

If she wasn’t so oversensitive to pain, she would have been able to focus on her mission, and not forget about the akuma spirit. In the end, it was all the fault of her doll quirks. Damn it. Damn the stubbornness of her old body. Why couldn’t it just leave her alone and let her be human? She could allow her doll-like memory to stay for its usefulness, but everything else had to go. It _should_ have gone away. It-

“Marinette.” Baxter’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped open (the sudden flood of bright light blinded her for a moment) and she turned to her caretaker. The man relaxed when their gazes met, letting an easy smile curve on his face. “Don’t be too upset. Failure is part of growing up and learning – a very _human_ thing to do,” he chuckled. “You should’ve seen me when Master Fu first told me about Miraculouses. Man, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I was always bragging about being his apprentice to all the kids in school.”

“No.” Marinette looked at him incredulously.

Baxter winked at her. “You bet. Of course, no one believed me and waved me off as a weirdo, so no harm done.”

Tikki giggled at the baker. “I can only imagine how much trouble you were for Fu.”

“Still am trouble, really. I just know how to get out of it now – all by myself.” Baxter said shamelessly.

He turned to Marinette again and patted her softly on the head. “So don’t be afraid if you make mistakes, Biscuit. Learn from ‘em and get better.” Marinette leaned into his touch. His warm hand on her head was oddly comforting. It was incredible how physical contact could do so much for a human. She had seen her owners hug, hold hands, and lean into each other all the time in the past. She didn’t quite understand why.

At the moment, she felt she understood them a tad better.

“Thanks, Baxter. Thanks, Tikki.” She smiled weakly at her companions. They returned her smile in kind, and urged her to rest for the night.

“You still have school tomorrow. I’ll have my employees bake a fresh batch of sweets for you to share.” Baxter smiled.

Tikki gave her a small kiss on the cheek. “Plus you’ll get to do your first akuma purification. Get as much sleep as you need.”

Marinette nodded, her worries finally soothed – if for a while. She had to admit that she _did_ feel drowsy. Was this a side-effect of the pain-killers? The pain in her muscles were certainly less than before. She let out a small yawn and snuggled into her pillow. “Good night…” she mumbled, already feeling dreamland beckoning for her.

“If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Baxter smiled. She hummed in appreciation when he tucked her in, and didn’t protest against his chaste kiss on her forehead before he headed down. She heard a small click, and with it went the lights. She was basked in the gentle light of the moon, tinted a faint yellow by the street lamps outside. Tikki floated over her. “I’ll be talking with Baxter for a bit. I won’t be long,” her kwami said. Marinette just nodded and watched the little god fly off.

Now it was just her.

Contrary to Baxter and Tikki’s urging, Marinette stayed up for a while longer, fighting off her drowsiness simultaneously. Her bluebell eyes stared up at the ceiling, seemingly vacant but full of her thoughts. She had failed her first mission. That was a less than fantastic start to her being a superhero. She had also learned that she had a low tolerance for pain.

Also less than fantastic.

What should have been an uplifting experience had turned into a tough wake-up call. Even with Ladybug’s powers, she was still a liability via her doll quirks. It seemed they remained for the sole purpose to hinder her life as a human. It baffled her as she thought about it more. Why _was_ she still forced to deal with this? How long would it take before her body fully transitioned into her human vessel?

 _Maybe I messed up the contract somehow_.

It wasn’t entirely implausible.

Even if Tikki insisted everything had gone well.

The bluenette sighed. This was getting nowhere. If she stayed up any later, she’d end up oversleeping and inevitably be late for her first day of school. “At least there’s that to look forward to,” she admitted. She was more than nervous about facing Picturesque off again (being thrown across a street again was something she wasn’t looking forward to) but going to school made her feel excited.

Giddy, even.

Thoughts of walking into a classroom, making new friends, creating memories to cherish, this made her heart feel light and airy. She tried to take advantage of her improved mood and closed her eyes. Sleep eventually captured her, and brought her back to dreamland for that night’s escapade. Meanwhile her body finally rested, and a small smile graced itself on her face.

 

* * *

 

“Sir?”

Nathalie Sancoeur knocked twice on the door before entering. Gabriel Agreste’s office was large and expansive, leaving a good distance between her and her employer. Said man was busy typing away on his computer, a sketchpad and pencil kept idly by his side. The man’s steely eyes glanced at her for a moment. “What is it, Miss Sancoeur?” his annoyance was thinly hidden by his curt tone.

“I wanted to discuss about Adrien’s education.” She made her way to him, clasping the board tightly to her chest.

Gabriel didn’t pause in his work. “Is he falling back on his studies?”

“No, sir. He is actually doing excellent in all his subjects.”

Gabriel sighed. “Then what is it?”

Nathalie did not answer immediately. She took in a breath. Mentally she recalled the words she had practiced several times before. She had to word this right. “I believe I have found a way to stop his frequent sneaking off,” she at last said. At this Gabriel stopped his work. He turned to her fully now, his gaze cautious but intrigued.

“Is that so?” He raised a brow at her.

She nodded. “Adrien has run off many times in the past, but only ever to that Francoise Dupont school. It is obvious he wants to attend classes there.”

Gabriel’s face immediately hardened. “I will not let him go,” he said with finality.

Just as he did any other time the subject was brought up.

Only this time Nathalie would not bend.

“I understand your concern for his safety, sir, but I believe you are putting him in greater danger by keeping him locked up.” She boldly spoke against him. “The more you tell him not to go, the more he will rebel. At some point he will refuse to listen to you completely.”

She felt a nerve twitch at Gabriel’s dismissive wave. “He will learn soon enough that I’m doing this for his sake.”

Stubbornness seemed inherent to the Agreste bloodline.

“If you were to let him go to school there, he would be more open to following your instructions.” Nathalie suggested.

Gabriel frowned. “By letting him get what he wants?”

“By giving him leniency. If you push too hard to keep him here, and at his age, he will close himself off to you. Perhaps permanently.” She sounded harsher than she would have liked, but she was getting tired of this conversation already.

That seemed to do the trick though. Gabriel’s frown decreased in size. He seemed to contemplate her words. A first, she thought optimistically. “And what benefits would he gain from this?” Gabriel tried to sound disinterested, but she knew she had got him to take the bait.

“The main gain would be social interaction. If he becomes well-adept at socializing, it will be easier for him to integrate into society as an adult, and would be much better at handling the company when he’s older.” She hastily added, “Of course, I will oversee who he keeps as friends and make sure they won’t put any bad morals in him.”

The fact that Gabriel wasn’t shouting at her to leave his office was already a good sign. She waited patiently as he seemingly pondered over her words. She was cautiously hopeful at this point. This was the furthest she had ever gone with this conversation. For everyone’s sake – and for her peace of mind – she needed Adrien to go to school.

If he went to school, he’d be less likely to run off to god knows where.

If he didn’t run off as often, Gabriel would be in a better mood.

If Gabriel was in a better mood, he would be less likely to swamp her with work that was _clearly_ not part of her job description and ergo give her less stress to deal with.

And Adrien would be happy, which was an added bonus.

She rather he not sulk so obviously when she was there. She saw right through his fake smiles. After all, she had practically watched him grow up – she knew an ample amount of his quirks and habits. His fake smiles were worse than his frowns. It made the atmosphere of the mansion gloomier on the whole.

And by gods, she did _not_ need more of that.

“I suppose…..I can see your point.” Gabriel finally said.

He sat straighter in his seat, his eyes piercing through her, studying her critically. “I trust you will handle his schedule, Miss Sancoeur?” Gabriel said in a low tone.

She gave a curt bow. “I will begin drafting it at once, sir.”

Gabriel nodded and turned away from her. He focused his attention on his computer once more. Nathalie took this as a cue to leave and excused herself from the room. As she reached the door, she heard him call her. She turned and acknowledged him. “Yes, sir?”

At that moment, she felt every hair on her nape stand up as Gabriel scowled at her. Her grip on the doorknob tightened instinctively.

“If anything happens to my son because of _your_ suggestion,” Gabriel’s eyes seemed ready to strike her down where she stood. “You will be held completely responsible. Is that understood?”

Nathalie swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Nodding at him once more, Nathalie quickly left the office. She let out a small breath of air, relieved yet nervous all at once. She was placing herself in a risky situation. If anything _did_ happen to the young Agreste, the father would definitely be out for her blood.

Of course, she wouldn’t let that happen.

She wasn’t the Agreste Fashion Company’s longest-surviving employee for nothing.

She was more than prepared to take on the enormous task she had just placed on herself.

Nathalie spared a glance at Gabriel’s office before heading for her quarters. When had it become so difficult to speak to him? She could not even recall the last time he had regarded her as a friend and not an underling. Not since….

“Tonight is so chilly,” Nathalie muttered. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she disappeared into one of the many hallways of the mansion.

 

* * *

 

Baxter sat stiffly on one of the kitchen chairs. His expression was unusually serious. “Are you sure she’s fit to go out tomorrow?” he said in a low voice. His blue eyes locked onto Tikki’s dark blue ones.

The kwami floated a couple meters away, munching on the cookies he had set out for her. “Her injuries weren’t grave and the worst she’ll get is a slightly sore body. My powers were able to soften the worst of the injuries.” Tikki said calmly.

“I’m worried about her doll quirks though. I’ve never seen her in so much pain. It scared me.” Baxter frowned recalling the scene.

Tikki nodded. “They don’t show any signs of leaving anytime soon. She’ll have to deal with them a while longer.”

The baker squeezed his mug. How could Tikki be so unperturbed about this? Marinette had come home writhing in pain and distraught at failing her first mission. Surely Tikki should have been more affected by this.

“I understand your concern, Baxter, but rest assured she will be fine.” Tikki said, knowingly looking at him and his worried expression.

The kwami took a bite of her cookie. “She has more to deal with than her predecessors but that will be what makes her stronger. Her handicap will force her to think more creatively, outside of the box.”

“Besides,” Tikki crooned, “She’ll have Chat Noir to help her. This one seems more than capable of supporting her as a partner.”

Baxter let out a grumble. “He’d better be.”

Tikki let out a small laugh. “Being an overprotective sibling suits you, Baxter. Makes you more responsible than usual.”

“Hey.” Baxter snapped.

Still, it did put him at ease to know the current Chat Noir would be able to help Marinette. She would need a capable partner to help her ease into her role as Ladybug. The poor girl’s first experience as a superhero didn’t exactly boost her self-confidence. He could only hope she’d believe in her abilities the more she used her Miraculous. So what if he wanted to coddle her every now and then? He would stubbornly argue with anyone that he had a right to do so. 

“I heard you’ll be visiting Fu tomorrow.” Tikki said, changing the topic.

Baxter relaxed, happy to oblige with the conversation shift. “Yup. He and Wayzz have some books for me to read. It’s probably something about the supernatural, or the akuma. Or maybe both.”

He took a sip of his hot chocolate. “I’ll only be gone for half the day. I’ll leave Marinette under your care.”

“Of course,” Tikki smiled.

The two talked long into the night, eating through several plates of sweets as they did. Even though Baxter still felt a thorn of worry poking at his side, he had to believe that things would go better for his pseudo sibling tomorrow. In the very least he hoped her first day in school would go smoothly. All she wanted was to be a human and do normal human things. And as long as he could do anything about it, he’d help her.

Marinette was going to need all the help she could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor, sweet doll. 
> 
> When I was planning out Marinette and Adrien's first fight, I always consulted the Origins episode and used it as a reference of sorts. I knew that Marinette couldn't be as reluctant to be Ladybug as she was in the show. After all, she had willingly agreed to be a hero in exchange for a human form. I decided to shift the focus of her lack of self-confidence elsewhere, to her doll quirks.
> 
> Adrien would obviously have a better time being a super hero. I didn't make his Chat Noir persona quite as flirty as the canon one. For now. Just this one time. He's still Adrien after all, so he was polite to his new partner (but you bet your sweet cupcakes he's gonna shoot out puns and flirtations the next time around).
> 
> Nathalie is not a bad person. I would like to believe that. She just has a different way of showing she cares. That, and she really doesn't want to deal with the extra paper work a certain blonde employer dumps on her every time a certain blonde son runs away as a way to pent out his frustrations.
> 
> This was not in her job description.
> 
> Anyways, the next chapter is already in the works. I won't get your hopes up. It might be several weeks to a month before I post it. Or maybe I'll post it in a week. I'm a bit inconsistent in uploading. I'm sorry for that, dear reader. But I WILL post the next chapter. You can take comfort in that at least.
> 
> Till then, my dear reader, please feel free to leave a comment on your thoughts of this chapter. Did you like it? What was your favorite part?


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